


When Every Second Counts

by PythagoreanTeapot



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia Martin, F/M, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Gen, Kidnapping, Mystery, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6289498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PythagoreanTeapot/pseuds/PythagoreanTeapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been years since high school and the pack has scattered. Lydia has been living away from Beacon Hills and any supernatural shenanigans for years. But when trouble comes calling there's still only one person she thinks to call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've been working on this monstrously long and complicated story and I really want to get it right, which I think sadly means not letting people read it until it's at least mostly finished (I'm maybe getting close to half way now). But I'm kind of super excited about it and I've been putting somewhat insane hours into it so I really wanted to share something anyway.
> 
> So here is a tiny taste, just a teaser really, of what I'm working on.

“Who is Stiles?”

“Hmm?” Lydia glanced up from her project, looking over at Sean to find him inspecting her cellphone.

“You’ve got a direct dial icon for ‘Stiles’ in prime real estate on your home screen.” He explained, “I just wondered who that is.”

Lydia refrained from rolling her eyes at the insecurity in his voice as she replied.

“He was my best friend back in California.” She said matter-of-factly.

“You’ve never talked about him.” Sean persisted, “And you don’t have direct dials for anyone else. I’m pretty sure you’ve booty called me more times in the last month than everyone else combined, so how come I don’t have a direct dial?”

Lydia sighed tying off the string she was working with and turning to face him.

“First of all, I booty call you enough that you’re always near the top of my recent calls list so I don’t need a direct dial icon for you. Secondly, I have a direct dial icon for the kind of emergencies where every second spent dialling matters. Much as you try to claim, sex is never that urgent.”

“So in a real emergency you’re going to call an old school friend?” Sean seemed incredulous, “When is the last time you even saw this guy? Shouldn’t you pick someone who is actually close to you as your emergency contact?”

Lydia gave in and rolled her eyes this time.

“You know, jealousy isn’t a good look for you,” she informed him as she moved to sit next to him on the bed. “I don’t think I’ve even talked to Stiles since we were both home at the same time the Christmas before last. And he lives on the other side of the country, so you don’t need to get all worked up about this.”

Her words seemed to placate him and he leaned over to kiss her, but after a moment he pulled back again.

“Okay, I don’t need a direct dial icon,” he conceded, “But it is still a bit odd that you haven’t updated your emergency contact in so long. Wouldn’t it be better to have Abigail or someone else who at least lives in this state on the other end if you actually have an every-second-counts emergency?”

Lydia reached over to take her cellphone from him. She stared at the offending icon for a moment before replying.

“My high school years were… eventful.” She finally admitted, “We went through a lot together, me and Stiles, Scott… Allison.”

She turned off the screen of her phone and put it aside.

“I put a direct dial icon on every new phone I get because I know that no matter how much time or distance we put between each other, if I called Stiles and said I needed his help then he would drop everything and come running. And I’d do the same for him. That’s just how it works. Jobs, classes, appointments – none of it would matter. If I called you and said I needed you then you would ask why and wouldn’t decide whether it was worth abandoning your other plans until you had an answer. And that’s fine. It’s actually healthy and rational.

“If Stiles asked me for help I wouldn’t wait to hear why before I booked a flight. Because if he needs me then I’ll be there, even if it meant losing my scholarship or not being able to pay my rent. We were there for each other during the worst times of our lives. That’s more important than any measure of years or miles between us.

“Stiles earned that icon on my home screen. He earned it the hard way and he never demanded anything in return. But I’ll tell you what,” Lydia offered generously, “The day that you literally save my life we can discuss whether there’s space for a second one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand... that's all you get for now. It doesn't even come close to the actual story I'm telling. Which is kind of the point, since I don't want to tell that story until I'm ready. But I'm legitimately churning through it faster than I've written any story before, so hopefully I'll have something more that I'm comfortable sharing soon.
> 
> In the mean time, if you like what you read then let me know. Encouragement makes me write even faster.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets an alarming phone call and leaps into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the awesome feedback and for your patience. I'm going to aim to update this at least twice a week so you won't have to wait so long again. This chapter jumps straight into the story, but mostly just sets things into motion. Hope you enjoy it!

Stiles laughed loudly at his roommates’ antics. They were currently facing off in an epic debate over who should win the round of Cards Against Humanity, even though neither of them had put forward the cards that they were arguing over.

He’d moved into this apartment just a few months earlier but already he felt like he belonged here. These guys were into so many of the same things as him and they seemed to have his exact sense of humour. Plus, their fortnightly game nights were a thing of beauty. They tried to invite someone new every time, though they each claimed to be running out of people to invite. The events were getting rather crowded as more people became permanent fixtures for the evenings.

Stiles sometimes remembered at times like these how anxious he’d been back in high school at the thought that he might drift apart from his friends after they graduated. He always had a moment of guilt for letting it happen, but it didn’t last long. He’d realised a while ago that drifting apart wasn’t the same as losing people. Sometimes people drifted apart because they were busy gaining new people.

It had been years since he’d seen some of the old pack. Lydia had been the first to go when she got a scholarship to study at Columbia. They’d been careful to stay in touch for the first year, but they’d gotten lax about communicating and then suddenly it had been the better part of a year and they hadn’t talked at all. But when they ran into each other back in Beacon Hills that Christmas it had turned out that it didn’t really matter. They picked up right where they’d left things, catching up and gossiping like they spoke every week.

Malia still called him every once in a while, or sent an email or a postcard when the whim struck her. She also crashed on his sofa (or his floor or his bed depending on how much space he actually had to offer) whenever she was in town. But she’d ditched school in favour of working crappy hospitality jobs when she needed cash while she hitchhiked and partied and couchsurfed around the continent.

In fact, Scott and Kira were the only ones he actually still saw with any regularity. They were the only ones still based in San Francisco like him. He and Scott had lived together for a year at the beginning, but their Universities were on opposite sides of the city and they’d realised that they could each save a lot on rent and transit if they moved closer to their respective schools. Stiles had bounced around a few different shared flats over the intervening years, but he really hoped to stay in this one for the rest of his degree.

Scott on the other hand had moved in with one of his classmates in second year. When said classmate had dropped out because of a sick mother Kira had happily offered to move in to help cover the rent and they’d lived together in the same place ever since.

Stiles glanced away from the escalating dispute when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. A single glimpse of the screen had him jumping up and ducking out of the loud sitting room to answer.

“Lydia?” He moved down the hall to his room quickly, closing every door between him and the rowdy party on the way.

“Stiles! They’re coming for me.” Lydia’s voice was frantic, terrified. “They’ll be here any second. I hear piano music and some kind of mechanical clicking. They already took someone else.”

“Who’s coming, Lydia?” Stiles asked, frantically fumbling for a pen to note down the sounds she mentioned.

“I didn’t hear it in time.” Lydia was whispering now, “It’s too late. They already have Teresa. They’ll kill her first if we don’t find –“

The connection cut off so suddenly that Stiles didn’t realise it had happened.

“Lydia?” He called into his phone, “Lydia can you hear me?”

He glanced at the screen to see that she was no longer on the line. He quickly hit the redial button, swearing when it went straight to voicemail.

He dialled again as he dragged his laptop out from under his bed and navigated swiftly to the airport website, searching for the next flight to New York. After hearing Lydia’s voicemail message for the fourth time Stiles gave up on that method and instead dialled the airline that had the soonest flight out of San Fransisco.

While he steered his way through the automated menu and then negotiated with the operator to reserve a seat on the flight he also ran around the room, throwing clothes and chargers and a toothbrush into his bag. He rattled off a credit card number and had just finished shoving his laptop into the top of the backpack when the operator gave him the confirmation and advised him that he had less than an hour to get to the airport to check in.

He dashed out the door and down the stairs, oblivious to the confused look he got from one of the party goers he passed on his way out. He phoned Scott as he was climbing into the car he’d bought last year when his trusty jeep had finally given up completely.

“Hey, man. What’s up?” Scott’s voice came reassuringly through the speaker as Stiles pulled out of the driveway.

“I’m on my way to pick you up.” Stiles announced, aware of the tension in his voice, “It’s Lydia. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

Stiles hung up before Scott could ask any questions, not wanting to be distracted while he was driving.

In 8 minutes he was pulling up in front of Scott’s place, hoping that there hadn’t been any speed cameras along the way.

Scott and Kira were both waiting for him on the curb, looking worried and confused.

Stiles motioned for them both to get in the car and waited just long enough to hear the click of both doors closing before he was pulling out again sharply.

“Woah,” Kira slid across the back seat, fumbling for a seat belt.

“Stiles,” Scott reached out a comforting hand to his best friend. “What’s going on?”

“I just got a call from Lydia,” Stiles detailed everything she’d said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“So we’re going to New York?” Kira asked from behind him.

“I’m going to New York,” Stiles corrected. “I found a flight that’s leaving in less than 2 hours. It lands at 9.30am Eastern time. While I’m stuck in the air I need you guys to start the search here. Look for any Teresas who are missing in the New York area, see if you can find anything that might line up with pianos and mechanical noises. Maybe my dad can access records about missing Teresas. Stalk Lydia’s facebook and make a list of the people she spends the most time with. Call anybody who might have contacts in the area.”

“I’ll call my parents,” Kira offered, “I’m sure you can use their place as a base. They live near the university too since Dad works there so it should be pretty close to a lot of the places Lydia would spend her time.”

Scott spoke more cautiously, “Stiles, maybe I should be the one to go there. I can track her by scent and you’re a lot better at the research stuff.”

Stiles shook his head, “I had to book the flight in my name. Besides, Lydia called _me._ Don’t question the instincts of a banshee. I need to be there.”

“We could both go,” Scott suggested.

“Yeah, probably not,” Stiles shook his head, “Last minute flights are not cheap. I had to use dad’s credit card number to cover the cost. I’m sure he will not be impressed with that when he finds out since he doesn’t know that I’ve memorised it. Right now having more people working the information side is what matters. I’m going to be completely useless for the entire 5 hour flight, but if you stay here and find out everything you can then at least we’ll have a starting point when I land.”

Scott nodded, resigned, “Fine, but at the first sign that this is turning into something you can’t handle on your own then we’ll be on the next flight. We can figure the money stuff out once everyone’s safe.”

“Good,” Stiles agreed emphatically, “I’m incredibly aware that I’m still just human and am therefore not the most qualified for the job.”

“You’re not _just_ human,” Kira defended him against himself, “You’re Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Scott nodded fiercely, “If I was missing you’d be my first choice to look for me. You’re the best at this sort of stuff. You’ll definitely find her.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Stiles spared them a smile, “But I don’t really need it yet. Too busy thinking about things to do and places to look. Maybe you could hold onto some of that optimism for when we really need it.”

“Definitely,” Kira promised, “But we won’t need it, because you’re going to find her.”

“And we’re going to help,” Scott added, opening a note on his phone, “What were the things you wanted us to look up again?”

\-  -

The rest of the trip to the airport had gone past in a blur of brainstorming and list making. By the time they’d arrived Scott and Kira had a list of 22 things they could do while Stiles was stuck in an airplane and outside of the range of the internet. Stiles hesitated for a moment after handing Scott his car keys at the airport drop-off zone.

“I can’t help feeling like I’m doing the wrong thing here, like I’m jumping to the wrong conclusions,” Stiles confessed.

“You’re not,” Scott promised, “You know that Lydia would only make a call like that if something was really wrong. Which means that right now every second could make a difference. You found a way to get to Lydia as quickly as possible. That’s the right move. We can handle the research side until you’re back on the ground.”

“Right,” Stiles nodded, “Get to Lydia. I’d better go check in then or I’ll miss my flight.”

Scott clapped him on the shoulder and Kira gave him a quick hug.

“I’ll call you the second I land,” Stiles promised, and then he turned and disappeared into the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like it let me know and I'll update soon. If you like it and you don't let me know I'll probably still update soon. If you don't like it... you can't stop me writing so you'll just have to stop reading.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles lands in New York and learns a bit about what he's walking into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is absurdly short. Sorry. It's really just a necessary exposition chapter and it didn't feel right to squish it in with the next one. But I promise to post the next one soon to make up for it.

Stiles jolted awake when the wheels hit the ground. He was surprised that he’d managed to sleep at all on the flight; he was so amped up on fear and anxiety. But it was good that he’d slept, he told himself. He knew he had a long, jet lagged day ahead of him.

He dragged his cellphone out of his pocket while the plane was still taxiing off the runway. They were most of the way to the terminal before he actually got a signal. He checked his emails to find that Scott had sent him four separate messages during the four hour flight, but he quickly decided to skip reading them now and instead called Scott directly.

“Hey, just landed.” Stiles announced as soon as he heard Scott answer, “Any luck?”

“Umm, not a lot.” Scott admitted tiredly, “I emailed you everything we found but it’s not that much.”

“Yeah, I saw the emails but thought I’d call you first and get the breakdown on what you’ve found before reading them.”

“Well, short version, I talked to your dad and he found seven Teresa’s missing in New York State just in the last three months. He said that he can’t request the files from the local authorities without a valid reason, but the FBI could. So Kira is googling all of them and finding all of the public information available and I’m going to go see my dad once the sun actually rises here to see if I can convince him to get those files when I can’t give him any real reason for it.

“Deaton says there’s a massive werewolf pack family called Arowatt in New York that’s been around for decades keeping all the various supernatural forces and humans who know about them in line. Apparently they have their own laws and keep human authorities in their pockets so that any abnormal things that crop up are dealt with the way they want. Sounded to me like some kind of Mafia family, but when I said that Deaton laughed at me and said I watched too many movies. He didn’t know how to get in contact with them, but he said hunters usually do because these Arowatt guys come down hard on hunters that show up without warning.

“I left messages for Chris Argent and for Braeden, but haven’t heard back from either of them yet.” Scott stifled a yawn, “What else?”

“Did you find anything on what Lydia said she was hearing? What about people around her lately?” Stiles asked.

“Nothing on pianos and mechanical clicking. It’s just too vague to work with. Especially since we know that Lydia doesn’t always recognise exactly what she’s hearing when she first hears it. Kira emailed you a list of the people who crop up in Lydia’s facebook photos and messages most frequently. I think she also stalked Lydia’s roommate. She got a bit frustrated with not making any progress on the other lines of research so after her fourth coffee she started googling interrogation techniques and trying to find things you could use on Abigail to get information from her.”

“Wow,” Stiles snorted, “Maybe you guys should sleep at some point.”

 “That’s even more concerning coming from you.” Scott laughed, “Oh yeah, and Kira’s parents should be there to pick you up.”

“Really?” Stiles perked up at that, “That’s awesome, because I actually forgot to figure out how to get from here to Lydia’s place.”

“Of course you did,” Stiles could practically hear Scott’s eyes rolling.

“I’m getting off the plane now,” Stiles advised, “I’ll call you back once I get to Lydia’s and see… whatever is there.”

“Who knows,” Scott added, “Maybe you’ll find Lydia there embarrassed about how she called you and then broke her phone in the middle of a normal old nightmare.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, “God, I hope that’s it.”

“Me too,” Scott murmured, “We’ll send you anything else we find.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Lydia be waiting with a smile when Stiles gets there? Spoiler: probably not. That would be a very different, much shorter story than the one I'm telling.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a new, longer chapter for your enjoyment. So enjoy. Or else.

Stiles was relieved but unsurprised to see Noshiko waiting for him when he exited the terminal. He was surprised that he managed to fall asleep again on the way from the Airport.

Kira’s parents lived on the opposite side of the Columbia campus to Lydia, but it was still close enough for Noshiko to drop him off there before heading home for a work appointment.

Stiles felt the anxiety he’d managed to keep somewhat contained sweep over him as he stood on the front step. What was he going to find behind the door? Would Lydia be there? If so, what sort of state would she be in that had her calling him in the middle of the night?

His mind started playing through a dozen different worst case scenarios before he got a hold of himself and knocked on the door. Having an answer was definitely better than letting his imagination take over.

He fidgeted with his backpack strap as he waited for someone to answer. By the time the door finally opened he’d half convinced himself that it would be Lydia, rolling her eyes at him for showing up there at all.

The girl who answered the door was not Lydia. She was completely unfamiliar to Stiles, who couldn’t even remember the name Lydia had used when she last mentioned her roommate.

“Hi!” He said with faux cheerfulness, “Is Lydia here?”

“Um, no,” Came the slightly startled reply, “She’s not home right now.”

“Oh,” Stiles reached out a hand, “I’m Stiles. I went to school with Lydia. I’m just in town for a couple of days and wanted to catch up with her.”

“Nice to meet you,” She shook his hand, “I’m Abigail. Lydia’s roommate. Obviously.”

“Do you know where Lydia went?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Abigail replied, “She wasn’t here when I got up this morning.”

Stiles frowned, “Is that normal?”

“Maybe not _normal_ ,” Abigail shrugged irritably, “But it’s not unheard of. Sometimes she makes late night booty calls and doesn’t come home until the next day.”

“Right,” Stiles nodded knowingly, “She was always proud of her ‘healthy sexual appetite’. Does she have a particular guy right now?”

A guarded look came across Abigail’s face.

“Why are you asking so many questions?” She asked suspiciously, “If you’re her friend shouldn’t you know the answers already?”

“You know, there was a time when I knew her better than anyone alive. But, you know, high school ends and people disperse and suddenly it’s been over a year since we’ve spoken at all.” Stiles replied. “Truth is, I miss her. I really hope I can catch her while I’m in town, but if not it would be nice to at least hear that she’s doing okay here.”

Abigail gave him a considering look, “How do I know you’re not just some creepy stalker guy?”

“Well,” Stiles laughed uncomfortably, “I did have a bit of a creepy stalker crush on her way back in grade school, but I’m reformed now. I promise. Once Allison and Scott sort of forced Lydia and I to coexist we became really good friends. You can’t really maintain a creepy stalker vibe when you genuinely know someone and care about them.”

Abigail’s guard finally dropped at his words and she stepped aside.

“Why don’t you come inside? I’d like to hear about Lydia in high school.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows in surprise but followed her inside without complaint.

He followed Abigail through to the small sitting room that was attached to the kitchen.  It was a cozy place, clearly in the student price range, but Lydia’s touch was all over in the matching colours and cohesive styling. He settled himself on one of the squishy armchairs.

“Honestly,” He admitted once he was firmly ensconced, “I’m surprised that admitting to having a creepy stalker crush once upon a time was what got me in the door. I thought you were more likely to slam the door in my face.”

Abigail laughed, “Well, there’s something to be said for honesty. But it’s actually the name drop that got you through the door. Lydia doesn’t talk about people from home much but she has mentioned Allison to me.”

“Oh, right.” Stiles nodded in understanding, “Yeah, we used to be really close back then. Scott and Lydia and Allison and I were sort of the founding members of a tight group. But we’ve all drifted now.”

“Are you still in touch with Allison? The way Lydia described her she sounds like the most beautiful, most badass person on the planet. But she was kind of drunk at the time so she might have been exaggerating.”

Stiles hesitated at this revelation, “No… she wasn’t exaggerating.” He responded instinctively.

“Oh,” Abigail looked slightly disappointed, “I’m not sure how I’m meant to compete for the best friend slot against someone like that.”

“Is Lydia okay?” Stiles asked abruptly.

“What do you mean?” Abigail asked, “Why wouldn’t she be okay?”

“Well, I mean, does she often get drunk and start talking about Allison? Does she have a steady routine and friends that she talks to?”

“Those are kind of odd questions to just ask out of nowhere.” Abigail frowned at him from the sofa, “Why don’t you think she’s okay?”

Stiles hesitated, wanting to respect Lydia’s choice not to discuss her past with her roommate.

“Well, we had kind of a hard time in high school,” He skirted the topic carefully, “We were really supportive of each other back then and I’m just worried that she might not have that support here.”

Abigail reacted defensively to his statement, “I’ve been friends with her since we were both in first year and we’ve been living together for over a year. We’re very supportive of each other. She’s my best friend in this city and I’m hers. You’re the one who doesn’t know anything about his supposed friend.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Stiles said apologetically, “I’m sure you’re an amazing friend. I’m just worried that Lydia might not be letting you, or anyone, be as good a friend as she might need. She’s pretty good at keeping people out when she wants to.”

“Is this why you really came here?” Abigail accused, “Were you hoping to find someone to gossip about Lydia behind her back? Are your creepy stalker ways not as far behind you as you claimed?”

“No!” Stiles abandoned his attempts to keep Lydia’s secrets. Finding out where she was now was more important. “I came here to talk to Lydia. But she’s not here, and then you tell me that she sometimes gets drunk and talks about Allison, but has clearly avoided mentioning that Allison is dead. That makes me worry. You’re right, I haven’t exactly been the most present person in her life lately but I still care about her. We went through a lot together. We lost one of our best friends together. I just want to make sure that she hasn’t been falling apart while I was distracted on the other side of the country.”

Abigail’s rage deflated at this announcement.

“Allison’s dead?” her voice was remorseful, “When did she die? Why wouldn’t she tell me that?”

“I guess it was about 5 years ago now, maybe more.” Stiles answered with a sigh. “Look, I’m glad that you’re trying to protect her. I’m glad that she has someone like you looking out for her here and keeping watch for creepy stalkers. But you’re not the only one who cares about her, and she has been keeping some of the trauma in her past a secret from you, which I get. It’s hard to talk about what happened to strangers. It’s hard to talk about Allison to people who didn’t know her. I just hoped that we might be able to talk to each other, compare notes, to make sure that Lydia’s actually going to be okay.”

Abigail gave him a forgiving smile. “Okay. Sorry I got defensive. I have a tendency to jump to conclusions and expect the worst from people. And I get pretty aggressive if I think people I care about are being threatened.”

Stiles grinned, “That is a feeling I completely understand. You have no idea how many times my best friend has asked me why I can’t trust anyone.”

“Well, I’m going to try trusting you now.” Abigail offered, “And you’d better not make me regret that by turning into an actual creepy stalker guy.”

“I swear,” Stiles traced an X shape over his heart, “I’m completely reformed.”

“Okay,” Abigail nodded obligingly, “What did you want to know?”

“Well, you said Lydia might have gone out late. Is there someone in particular she might have gone to see?”

“Sean Douglass has been her go to man candy for the past few months.” Abigail revealed, “She keeps saying she’s going to have to end it because he’s getting attached and she doesn’t feel that way about him, but she said it was just so convenient since he lives about 2 blocks away so she hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Right,” Stiles mentally noted down the name, “What about school? Are her classes going well? She must be getting pretty close to graduating, right?”

“She’s been looking into grad school options and I think a few have been sniffing around offering her positions,” Abigail settled back on the sofa relaxing into the conversation, “But I don’t think she’s made any decisions yet. As for how her classes are going, since she ranted for weeks when she got a B on one paper last year, I’m sure I would have heard if things weren’t going perfectly. And she hasn’t mentioned anything. Although, I’m not sure how she’s going to pass the art elective she’s taking.”

“Why wouldn’t she pass?” Stiles asked.

“I’ll show you.” Abigail gestured for him to follow her.

She led him up the stairs, stopping at an open door to the room that clearly had to be Lydia’s. There were pictures that he recognised, including the drawing of the Nemeton that he’d had framed for her. He glanced around the room, looking for anything that stood out, any clues to what might have happened mere hours before.

The bed was made, the floor clear. There were books and papers stacked in tidy but easily accessible piles around the room; nothing looked obviously out of place or suspicious.

When Abigail walked over to the desk he stole the chance to pull out his phone and snap some quick photos to study later.

“A girl I work with is in the same class and she said their term project was on oil painting” Abigail spoke while looking down at something on Lydia’s desk, “So I don’t know how _this_ is going to go over with the teacher.”

Stiles followed her slowly across the room, surreptitiously recording a video of every angle as he moved across. He stopped when he saw the desk.

There was a strange contraption sitting there. A wooden board had been stuck with a seemingly random scattering of short nails. Twisted among the nails was a wandering line of red string.

Stiles froze at the sight. Red meant unsolved.

He forced a smile onto his face as he moved up next to Abigail.

“Wow,” He tried to laugh, “That does not look like oil paint. Did you ask Lydia about it?”

“Nah,” Abigail said dismissively, “It’s her class; it’s her problem. I tried to talk to her once about her art and she got super defensive. Froze me out for a week just because I said it wasn’t symmetrical.”

Stiles tried to think of a way to take a close up of the work without Abigail noticing but couldn’t think of anything. Instead, he just pulled his phone out in clear view and took a careful picture, making sure to get every piece clearly.

“This reminds me of something we used to do back in the day,” He said vaguely as an excuse and then quickly changed the subject to stop her from asking further. “Do you know much about her schedule? Maybe I can track her down somewhere? I’m not in town for very long and I’d hate to miss her.”

Abigail led the way downstairs while she answered, oblivious to the fact that Stiles was lagging behind, taking a few more pictures, checking under the bed and in the closet. He snagged a blouse from her laundry basket and shoved it into his bag in case he found a werewolf in town who could use a smell sample.

“She only has one class on Fridays,” Abigail was saying, “Which isn’t until 2pm in the West Building. But she does hang out in the Law Library on campus at some point most days. If she isn’t still in bed with whatever guy caught her eye this time then that would be my best guess for where you might find her.”

“Thanks,” Stiles answered, shoving his phone back into his pocket and turning abruptly towards the door, “Well, it was nice meeting you, Abigail. Hopefully I’ll catch you again before I head back to California.”

“Oh,” Abigail seemed surprised at his decision to leave, “You’re leaving now?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, “Sadly the real reason I came to New York can’t wait forever. But maybe I’ll stop by again later. And if Lydia comes home maybe you could let me know? Save me from wandering around the Law Library in the hopes of spotting her.”

“Of course.” Abigail agreed.

They exchanged numbers at the door and then Stiles moved off down the path to the street feeling dejected.

There wasn’t anything much there.

Beyond a mysterious, possibly banshee inspired artwork that made no sense to him there hadn’t been any signs that something strange had happened. Except that Lydia wasn’t there.

He thought about the way Abigail had spoken of Lydia’s absence, as something completely mundane and unremarkable. He wished he could think that was a possibility, but he could still hear the terror in Lydia’s voice. _They’re coming for me_.

Lydia was never wrong about those things. Sometimes they didn’t understand how she was right until it was too late, but she was always right. Someone had taken her and then they had removed any trace that she had been taken.

He glanced at his watch, slightly confused to find it still set to California time.

Lydia had been gone for just over 8 hours. According to TV police procedurals that left him another 40 hours before the chances of finding her dropped dramatically. It was unlikely that those statistics took into account banshees who could predict their own kidnapping, but Stiles knew there was still some kind of time limit.

Stiles pulled out his phone as he started walking towards campus, hoping that he would find signs pointing to the Law Library when he got there. He didn’t think that she would be there, but any lead had to be followed.

“She’s not at home.” Stiles announced as soon as Scott answered. “Her roommate, Abigail, thinks she went out late last night to hook up with some guy named Sean Douglass and doesn’t think it’s remotely weird that she didn’t come home this morning. She also told me that if Lydia is anywhere on campus she’ll be in the Law Library, so I’m going to go check there, but I’m pretty sure we’re not that lucky.”

“Right,” Scott replied blearily, “I managed to convince dad to give me some more information about the missing Teresas – which was not easy by the way and I had to barter away three weekend get togethers with him to get it – but he still refused to give me the majority of the files. I’ve got one next of kin contact for each of them and the details of when and how they disappeared, and most of that was already available online. It’s still not a lot to go on.

“Kira fell asleep on top of her laptop trying to put the list in some sort of order of likeliness, but we have no idea what we’re looking for. We’re going to divide up the list and start calling the contacts Dad gave me to see if that sheds light on anything, but we barely know what to ask. We really have nothing to hint at which Teresa it might be unless we can find one who plays the piano and has a mechanical limb or something.” Scott sighed.

“Yeah,” Stiles echoed Scott’s sigh with one of his own, “You’d think we’d be used to chasing blind banshee predictions but it really doesn’t get any easier. Give me a third of the list. I can call people while I walk to the Law Library.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your feedback! I'm glad people are enjoying it so far. And we've barely even started! It's looking like it will probably be about 18-19 chapters all told, so I hope you're prepared for that. You won't be getting all the answers for a while, but you will be getting some soon.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know very little about the geography of New York and nothing about the layout of Columbia University. Everything in this story is completely made up to suit my needs. Hopefully it's at least plausible to people less ignorant of these things than I am.

Stiles discovered on his walk to the Law Library just how impossible it was to narrow down the list of Teresas with the amount of information they had. The first person he tried calling was the brother of a 56 year old Teresa who had gone missing a week ago in Brooklyn. As he listened to the man talk about his missing sister, Stiles found himself drawing connections between the woman and Lydia. They had both moved to New York around the same time. They both had a connection to Columbia University.

He realised, however, that there would probably be connections like this for every Teresa. If you took the time to look for it you could probably find some kind of tenuous connection between any two strangers. Without any clues for why Teresa and Lydia had been taken there wasn’t any reason to pick one Teresa over another. They couldn’t even take much from the way that Lydia had disappeared since one data point wasn’t enough to establish a pattern. Just because this Teresa had disappeared on her way to work one morning didn’t mean that the same people who snatched Lydia in the middle of the night couldn’t be responsible.

Stiles sent a quick message to Scott after he hung up to summarise the information he’d gotten.

The Law Library turned out to be one of the smaller libraries on campus and it only took Stiles ten minutes to scour the entire building for signs of a strawberry blonde head. Unsurprisingly, he came up empty.

There were still a few hours until the class that Lydia was meant to be going to today, but he didn’t expect her to show up there either. He found a bench outside to settle on where he gathered his thoughts, scanning through the updates that Scott and Kira had sent them about the calls they were attempting.

There were still other people that he could talk to. He wanted to track down this Sean guy and see if he had any insight to offer, and Scott and Kira had compiled a list of people who showed up a lot on Lydia’s Facebook page who could be worth tracking down. But his gut told him they weren’t the path to finding Lydia. It just didn’t feel right with the way Lydia had called him and the little information he’d managed to find so far.

Sighing, he pulled up the list of Teresas again. He knew this was their best lead. If they could figure out who Teresa was then they could figure out why Lydia was taken which would lead them to the people responsible.

He scanned through the information on the next name on his list: Teresa Alvarez, 13 years old, disappeared during the night three weeks ago, no signs of struggle. Main contact was Eliza Alvarez, her mother.

“Hello?” Teresa’s mother answered his call quickly.

“Hi,” Stiles rattled off the cover story that he’d fabricated, “My name is Stiles. I’m with the group Leave No One Behind. We’re a non-profit organisation trying to draw attention to the number of missing persons in New York in the hopes that we can increase funding and demand results from law enforcement. We also run awareness campaigns to reduce the number of people who disappear in this city. I know this must be a difficult topic for you, but would you be willing to talk to me about your daughter Teresa?”

“Oh,” Eliza’s voice faltered, “Yes, I suppose I can do that.”

“Great,” Stiles continued, “Information is one of the best weapons we have to combat this growing issue. Would you be able to tell me, in your own words, what happened the night that she disappeared?”

“She was just gone,” Eliza replied, “She was in her bed when I walked past her room at 11 the night before and when I got up the next day she was just gone. Her bed was made, the doors were still locked, her phone and wallet were still on her shelf. It’s like she just vanished. We didn’t hear anything.”

“And how do you feel about the police response? Have they given you much information about their progress?” Stiles kept his voice carefully in a professionally disinterested tone though Eliza’s despair was difficult to listen to.

“I haven’t been impressed at all.” She admitted. “From the beginning they decided that she walked out on her own. They think she was probably sleep walking and maybe fell or got hypothermia or something. I keep telling them that she could still be alive, that she wouldn’t have just wandered away like that but I can tell by the way that they talk to me that they’ve switched to looking for a body.”

“I’m so sorry.” The sympathy in Stiles’ voice was completely genuine as Eliza choked back a sob. “Why would they think she left on her own? Did she sleep walk a lot?”

“No! She never went wandering at night before. We did take her to the doctor a few months back because she had started sort of sleep walking during the day, but it never happened at home. Teachers kept catching her wandering out of school in the middle of the day and when they talked to her she was certain that she was heading towards class. It was terrifying for her.” Eliza was opening up mournfully now, “She never knew what was happening. Once, when she was wandering like that, she found a student who had hanged themselves. She started having nightmares and hearing things that weren’t there after that but she never went walking in her sleep. But as soon as the police saw her medical records they stopped looking for other explanations.”

“That must have been horrible. I actually used to sleep walk as a kid,” Stiles admitted, “I remember that the confusion about why it was happening and how I had gotten somewhere was one of the scariest things for me. Was anyone able to tell you what was causing it?”

“No, that’s why the police claim it was probably a progression of whatever was wrong, because no one _could_ tell us how it would progress. There was nothing on the scans and tests that they did. The drugs they prescribed didn’t seem to do what they were meant to. Some of them made it worse. Nobody could give us any clues. Well," She laughed dismally, "except my husband’s Great Aunt Maria who keeps trying to convince us that it's normal for women in their family to hear death coming. That’s not even close to the strangest idea she's come up with. She’s what we like to call bat-shit crazy; been in assisted living in a home in Staten Island for more than 20 years. Oddly, her suggestion wasn't very helpful.”

“Really,” Stiles kept his voice carefully steady, “This is really helpful Mrs Alvarez. I think we might be able to help your case but I’ll have to make some phone calls. Thank you so much for talking to me.”

“Of course,” She replied wearily and without much hope, “If there’s any chance it will help find my baby girl.”

“We’ll see what we can do.” Stiles replied, “Thanks again.”

He stabbed the hang up button on his phone and swiped to Scott’s number.

“Still nothing,” Scott said by way of greeting, “We haven’t been able to narrow down the possible connections at all and we’re still trying to get through to the last two people on our list.”

“You can stop,” Stiles told him, “It’s Teresa Alvarez. She’s a banshee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've probably set you all up to expect updates every day or two, but there might be a bit of a delay here. There are some things a few chapters away that I'm not totally happy with right now and it intersects with the next chapters so I don't want to post them until I'm positive about where everything should go. But, rest assured, it won't be too long a wait. I'm slightly addicted to the love you guys have been sending me so I'm sure to be back with another chapter soon.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In behind the scenes news that I'm really excited about but doesn't actually affect how quickly you get the next chapter: I have FINISHED writing this story!!! I mean, it's not actually the final version that will be published yet since I need to fix a few things in the middle and I tend to revise each chapter as I post it, but the whole thing is down in words. Lots of words. No more words necessary. In fact, there were a bunch of things I thought I would include that turned out to be unnecessary. Worse than unnecessary. Distracting.  
> Just like this author's note: unnecessary and distracting. Why don't we just get on with the story already?

Lydia woke up slowly, easing her way from oblivion into a world of discomfort.

She winced as she opened her eyes, the dim light enough to send stabbing pain into her head.

With an effort she pushed herself into a sitting position, dropping her head into her hands with a groan as her stomach revolted at the motion.

“Are you okay?” came a tentative voice from behind her.

Lydia felt the urge to spin around in surprise but couldn’t muster the energy to do more than lift her head from her hands. She took her time turning to face the voice. When she finally got the speaker in her line of sight she found herself looking at a young girl who was seated, cowering, in the corner of the room.

“I’ve been better,” Lydia admitted.

The girl nodded, “Yeah, the drugs they use are pretty nasty. I threw up when they took me.”

“I still might,” Lydia took a measured breath to prevent such an event as she looked around the room.

It was a dark, dingy place. There was only one small window high up on one wall which told her they were in some kind of basement. But, not only were there bars over the window, it was also set several inches deep into the wall making Lydia wonder if the walls were that thick all the way around the room.

There were two camping mats side-by-side where she had woken up with one sleeping bag spread across the mat closest to the wall while another sleeping bag had been tossed, still stuffed in its travel bag, into the corner. To her right was a large, heavy door without a handle and across from it was a small sink and a toilet open to the room.

The final corner, almost directly behind her, was where the girl who had spoken crouched.  She was the only other occupant of the room. As her memory of the previous night’s events swam back into her mind, Lydia turned slowly around to face her directly.

“Are you Teresa?” She asked gently.

“How do you know my name?” Teresa asked suspiciously.

“I heard it,” Lydia replied, glancing around again at the room she clearly wasn’t meant to be leaving any time soon. “I should have heard it sooner. I’m sorry. How long have you been here?”

“19 day,” Teresa answered promptly.

“Just in here?” Lydia asked in shock, “That’s horrible.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Teresa responded darkly.

“No,” Lydia assured her, “We’re not going to be here long enough for me to get used to it. You’ll be home before you know it.”

“There’s no way out,” Teresa told her. “The door doesn’t open from this side and there’s another door behind it so even if you manage to get through when one of them comes in here you still can’t get out.”

“I do have a few skills that they might not be prepared for,” Lydia informed her, adding miserably, “Though I think if I tried to so much as stand right now I would probably throw up.”

“They’ve thought of everything,” Teresa told her, “We’re never going to get out of here.”

“Hey,” Lydia pushed herself to her knees to crawl towards the girl, ignoring her rebelling stomach, “It’s going to be okay. I promise. No one ever thinks of _everything_. I know it looks bad right now. I know that you’ve been here alone for so long. But you’re not alone now. And no matter how they’ve tried to prepare it won’t matter. Because people are looking for us.”

“The police will never find us here,” Teresa’s voice broke on the statement.

Lydia was cut off from reassuring the child when a scraping sound from the other side of the room announced the opening of the door. Lydia noticed the way that Teresa managed to shrink in on herself even more as the door pushed slowly open and couldn’t help but wonder what these people had done to the girl.

Lydia wanted to lunge toward the opening door and take whoever was coming through by surprise, but even just swivelling on her knees sent another burst of nausea through her. She resigned herself to easing sideways to sit in between Teresa and the door, trying to make note of every detail that might be useful when she was feeling better.

A tall, slim, balding man entered the room carrying a tray with two instant microwave meals on it.

“Good to see you awake, Lydia,” He said as he placed the tray on the floor near the door. “Food will help with the after effects of the sedative.”

He stepped closer, sweeping his eyes over her in a scientific manner.

“I’m sure that you’re wondering why you’re here,” He commented, “You’re here because we need you to find something. Teresa was most ineffective at the task. We were very patient with her. You will not receive such patience. Since we need you in a suitable condition to perform this task, if we do not see results quickly then we will take our disappointment out on Teresa. Should she die as a result then we will begin inflicting pain on you directly.”

Lydia felt a chill seep into her at the matter-of-fact way that he announced this.

“You don’t want to do this,” Lydia informed him coldly, “The last person who tried to use my power to find something lost half of his head.”

“Ah,” He smiled at her like he’d been waiting for this response, “Yes, we’re aware that your voice can be quite the weapon but, rest assured, this room is specifically designed to be unaffected by a banshee’s scream. It’s been sound-proofed in a very thorough, and very expensive, way. So, if you were to kill me now then my partner, watching outside the door, would simply walk away, leaving both of you to die down here alone.

“Feel free to try escaping anyway. It’s entertaining to watch.” He grinned at her viciously.

Lydia swallowed back some more nausea. She couldn’t scream now if she wanted to, but that didn’t mean she would rule out the option for later.

“We’ll give you half an hour to rest and shake off the last of the drugs we poured into you. Then we’ll talk about what you’re here for.”

He made his way over to the door, which Lydia noted had been left open an inch while he was inside. Beyond it, however, was another identical door, equally impenetrable.

After he had closed the door firmly behind him she waited a few more moments.

“How do they watch us?” She asked Teresa.

“There’s a camera,” Teresa gestured above them, “It’s in the wall, behind the plastic stuff.”

Lydia turned to look at the wall beside her and noticed for the first time that it was covered entirely in some kind of thick plastic-looking material. As she ran her eyes around the room she saw that this material covered every inch of the walls and even ran unbroken across the hole into which the window was set. She thought she could make out etchings of some kind along the seam closest to her where panels of this material overlapped.

“That must be part of the soundproofing,” She muttered to herself, “Does that mean they can’t hear us?”

“Yeah,” Teresa said, “They can only see us. I tried yelling for ages my first day and they didn’t even notice. But it’s not like that helps us any.”

“Sure it does,” Lydia told her, “It means we can conspire without them hearing our plans.”

“What plans?” Teresa asked dismally, “There is no plan that can get us out of here. I told you, we’re never getting out. What could we possibly talk about?”

“Well, for a start, you could tell me what you know about them and the thing they’re after,” Lydia suggested. “We could talk about how to keep them from torturing or killing either of us. If all of that fails then we could talk about how long you’ve been a banshee.”

“I…” Teresa hesitated, “I don’t know if I am a banshee. It was probably just a coincidence that I found a body that one time. They keep telling me I’m a banshee, but they also said that a banshee should be able to hear where the spike is and I couldn’t hear anything.”

“It’s not always that simple,” Lydia told her gently, “I was hearing things and finding dead bodies all over the place long before I knew that banshee was the word that explained it. But once you know what it is it’s not so scary. It’s still pretty disturbing when you find yourself going somewhere you didn’t think you were going, and honestly the knowledge that there will be a dead person at the end doesn’t help, but understanding why helped a lot. Plus, I had friends who helped me learn how to control it and how to listen so that sometimes I could get there soon enough to save people.”

“Well, I don’t have any banshee friends to help me even if we do get out of here,” Teresa spoke hopelessly.

“I’ll help you,” Lydia pledged, “But they don’t have to be banshee friends. They just have to be understanding and supportive. When we get out of here I’ll help you explain it to the people you trust the most. I promise.”

Teresa snorted hopelessly, “Like you can do anything to keep that promise stuck in here.”

“I’ve already done something to get us out of here,” Lydia revealed, “Banshee lesson 1: Don’t hesitate to ask for help. When I heard them coming I called a friend. No matter how carefully they’ve planned for me or how well they’ve built this place Stiles will find us.”

“Really?” Teresa couldn’t stop the hope that edged into her voice, though she clearly tried.

“Really,” Lydia said with certainty, “Stiles always figures it out. Once he broke into a high security psychiatric hospital to save my life. He’s never let me down.”

“How will he find us if the police can’t?” Teresa asked curiously, “Does he have super powers too?”

Lydia smiled, “Yeah, Stiles has super powers. He’s really smart. He sees connections that nobody else notices. When the people he cares about are in trouble he won’t let anything stop him from helping them. He’s a hero.”

“That doesn’t sound like a super power.” Teresa said in disappointment.

“Well,” Lydia answered, “Take it from me. I know a lot of people who can do things beyond the human. Werewolves who are stronger and faster with heightened senses; Kanima that can paralyse people with a single scratch; Kitsune who can absorb an entire power grid of electricity; even a hellhound who literally bursts into flame; and those are the ones who were friends. The people who tried to hurt us could do even more messed up things. But there aren’t many people or creatures that I would bet on if they were going up against Stiles. He finds solutions. He’ll find us.”

Lydia struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against the wall.

“How about we try that food?” She suggested, “I feel horrible enough that I’m willing to take a psycho kidnapper’s word that food will improve the situation. While we eat I’ll tell you about the time we were hunting for a were-coyote who hadn’t been human in 8 years. And you can tell me what you know about this thing they want us to find.”

\-   -

The door opened again, as promised, not long after Lydia and Teresa had finished eating. Fortunately, the food did seem to help a lot with the nausea, though Lydia still had a horrific headache.

This time it wasn’t the man from earlier, but rather a woman who entered the room. She came empty handed and seemed to make a show of opening the door wide as she entered so that they could see the small alcove behind it that was also lined with whatever soundproof lining covered the rest of the room. Lydia knew this was a message to her, letting her know that they were ready for her.

“Hello, dear,” The woman spoke in an overly chipper voice that immediately put Lydia on edge. “You can call me Polly. I’m here to discuss the job you’ll be undertaking for us.”

“Really?” Lydia channelled Stiles’ penchant for sarcasm in the face of the unknown, “What’s the hourly wage for this job?”

Polly merely smiled, “If you do the job then you both get to live for another hour.”

Teresa shrank further behind Lydia at the statement.

“Now, what we’re looking for is called the Submission Spike. It’s approximately seven inches long, serrated along the length of one edge, with a blunt hook at one end and a sharp point at the other. It is made of bronze, with pictures or possibly hieroglyphs etched into the surface. It is hidden in a place that can only be located by sound. You will tell us where to find it or we will begin by breaking one of Teresa’s fingers. One every hour to begin with.”

“Wait,” Lydia broke in frantically, “That’s not how it works. I can’t just imagine something in my head and know where it is. I need something to focus on, something connected to it. And I need other tools. Sometimes I draw or write things. Even when I do hear things it’s not like it’s spelled out; sometimes I hear things that don’t make sense until later.

“I get that you’re impatient,” Lydia tried to reason with the woman, “You’ve been trying to get an answer from Teresa for weeks, but that’s just not how a banshee’s power works.”

Polly frowned unhappily at Lydia, “We had heard that banshees require a focus and we did manage to attain the tibia and fibula of the last person to use the spike. This is the first I’ve heard about drawing or writing though.”

“Have you dealt with many banshees before?” Lydia asked pointedly, “Because I haven’t. I just know what works for me. The right kind of noise can help, like static or white noise. Definitely having something connected to it will help, but it’s still unreliable. I’ve spent hours, days trying to hear the right thing before and that was when I was using my power regularly. I’ve spent the last few years trying to suppress everything that I heard. I don’t know how long it will take me to remember how to focus properly.

“Look,” She put her most submissive voice on, “I’m not trying to get out of doing this, but I need you to understand what a reasonable expectation is. At least let me try for a while with the right tools before you start taking it out on Teresa.”

Polly gave her an appraising look for a moment, “I’ll have to discuss this with my partner.”

She stepped out into the alcove and pulled the door closed behind her.

“Do you really think you can find it?” Teresa asked.

Lydia paused, hesitant to admit the truth. Teresa had been through a lot and they were in this together now, but she was also terrified and might be willing to say anything if she thought it might save her.

The truth was, Lydia could already hear whispers about this object. She didn’t have any idea where it was yet, but she knew that if it was found then a whole lot more people would die. And that would include her and Teresa.

“I’m not sure,” Lydia told the girl, “But I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was okay. I feel like I've put so much different kinds of work into this over the past few days that I just can't tell anymore. It's all blurring together and getting confused. Might have to take a day off to reset my brain before the next one. Either that or just trust that the next chapters are probably mostly okay without checking one more time.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: Descriptions in this chapter are not intended to reflect any real kind of mental illness. Though the word 'dementia' is used this is simply to reflect that doctors would try to find an explanation that they understand for something outside of scientific definition. Any similarities or differences to real world mental illness is accidental and no offence is intended.

Stiles looked up at the bright, well-cared for building. Aesthetically, it was about as far removed from Eichen House as a long term care facility could get.

He had gotten his dad to use his police sources to track down the facility where Teresa’s great-aunt Maria had lived for the last 20 years. It had been a long trip out to Staten Island. He’d spent the majority of the journey calling random people who might have seen Lydia lately and trying not to dwell on what might be happening to Lydia while he sat on the subway.

Nothing had jumped out at him during the conversations, but he knew that he couldn’t skip those calls just because he wasn’t expecting to learn anything. You never really knew what information might turn out to be useful.

He climbed the front steps and made his way to the reception desk. This was where he thought he might actually get some useful information. Though, given the way that Eliza Alvarez had described the woman he did wonder how coherent that information might be. He’d deciphered some pretty incoherent banshee messages in the past, but he’d never tried talking to one who had been disconnected from reality for so long.

After signing in he was directed to the second floor, where he found Maria Alvarez sitting by the window of a brightly lit, pleasantly decorated private room.

This place was really nothing like Eichen House.

He approached the woman slowly, making sure that she saw him coming.

“Maria Alvarez?” He asked gently.

She gave a non-committal hum, barely sparing him a glance.

“My name is Stiles,” He told her, “I wanted to talk to you about your niece, Teresa.”

“She can’t find it.” Maria told him at the sound of her niece’s name, “She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t know how.”

“What can’t she find?” Stiles asked her, pulling out a notebook with the intention of writing down everything Maria said just in case it proved important later.

“They thought she could find it,” She continued, nodding at him, “They don’t like that she can’t. They’ll kill her if they don’t find it. They’ll kill both of them.”

“Both of them?” Stiles jumped on the phrase, “Do you mean Lydia? Lydia and Teresa are together?”

“Lydia?” Maria’s focus faded to the window behind him. “Lydia. Such a pretty name. Lydia.”

Maria started humming and singing Lydia’s name to herself.

“Do you know where they are?” Stiles asked, “Do you know where Teresa is? Or who took her?”

“The mint cake is the last to go,” Maria informed him gravely, “No one will take such an unruly creature.”

Stiles stifled a sigh of exasperation. He knew that patience was the most important tool for getting answers from a disconnected banshee, but it wasn’t something that he had a lot of right now.

“Seven, three, one, fourteen, eight, five, twenty two.” Maria rattled off quickly while Stiles copied down her words without much hope of making sense of them, “If they find it all will fall but if they don’t then both will die. Don’t look, don’t look.”

“Maria,” Stiles tried to get her to focus on him again. “Why were they taken? What are they meant to find?”

Maria looked back at him and seemed to focus briefly.

“No one else can find it,” She told him urgently, “Not by sight or smell or story. That’s why they wanted my Teresa, but she wasn’t strong enough. So they took another.”

“Where did they take them?” Stiles asked again.

“No story, no smell, no sight can find it. No smell, no sight, no story. No story, no sight, no smell.” Maria was getting more agitated with each repetition. “It takes their will, it makes them bow. No sight! No smell! No story!”

Maria was yelling now, grabbing his arm with an unexpectedly sturdy grip.

“Woah,” Stiles reached out to try and ease her fingers from his wrist. “Calm down, Maria. Calm down. It’s going to be okay.”

“TERESA!” Maria started crying out, “TERESA!”

A pair of nurses rushed into the room, one of them lingering to murmur calming words to Maria while the other ushered Stiles from the room.

“I’m sorry, dear. We’ll have to ask you to leave now,” the nurse explained as she led him out to the hallway, “Maria gets agitated sometimes and it’s best if she isn’t stressed by guests when it happens.”

“Right,” Stiles let himself be led away, stuffing his notebook back into his bag. Behind him Maria had broken down into sobs, still calling for her niece.

As the door was closing he thought he heard her whisper _save her_.

He followed the nurse out to the main desk, stopping when she did.

“I’m Stiles, I didn’t get to introduce myself on the way in.” He put a friendly smile on his face.

“Carol,” she replied.

“Have you been working with Maria for long?” Stiles asked.

“Going on three years.” Carol answered while she shuffled through paperwork on the desk.

“Does she have outbreaks like this often?”

Carol sighed, looking back up at him from the mess of files on the desk, “Off and on. Months without and then she’ll have one every day for a week”

“Listen,” Stiles leaned forward hesitantly, “I know it’s probably not protocol, but I really think that she was trying to tell me something important. Could you maybe call me if she started talking like this again? It could be really important.”

Carol raised her eyebrow. “You think someone who has had severe dementia for twenty years is going to be able to help you?”

Stiles nodded. “There’s information that’s still in her brain. She just doesn’t have the same access to it or the ability to communicate it clearly when she does remember. But she knows something that could literally save lives.”

Carol gave him a sympathetic look, “Maybe that’s true for some other dementia sufferers, but Maria’s disease isn’t like any other dementia I’ve ever seen.”

“Please,” Stiles grabbed a post-it from the nurses’ desk and scrawled his name and number across it. “I can decide for myself whether her words are important if you would just call me and tell me what she’s saying.”

Carol glanced indecisively at the slip of paper, “It’s really against protocol and I doubt it would do you much good.”

“Will you just think about it? Don’t write it off now.” He begged, “If you happen to hear something you can decide then whether you’re willing to contact me.”

Carol rolled her eyes but took the post-it. “Fine, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“Thank you!” Stiles grinned at her and turned to go. By the time he’d made it outside he was frowning again.

He knew that a lot of what Maria had said was relevant and important, but not much of it sprang out as making sense. She had seemed pretty clear on the fact the Teresa had been taken to find something and that she couldn’t find it. And that when she couldn’t find it whoever had taken her had gone looking for another banshee.

As he made his way to the subway to head back towards the university campus he tried to sort out all of the things he’d heard her say, desperately trying to link her words up with the other things he knew about the case. He found himself wishing for his trusty mystery board. He really saw things better when he could lay it all out physically. He tried scribbling things out in his notebook on the ride back but the pages quickly became a mess of arrows and lines and notes that even he couldn’t decipher.

He decided it would have to wait until he got back to Kira’s parents’ house. There at least he could pull the pages out of his notebook to move them around on the floor. Instead of trying to see the bigger picture here he pulled out his phone to check on the progress Scott had made.

Scott’s latest update started with an apologetic confession that he and Kira had taken turns napping in between calling every person they ever knew with any connection to the supernatural. They had heard even more rumours about the Arowatt Pack, who were starting to sound even more terrifying and even more likely to be the best source for local information and support, but so far no one actually knew how to find them. Most of their contacts had proven fairly useless, though several had offered to drop what they were doing and head to New York if it would help. The offer was somewhat valuable in the case of Isaac, who was a short flight away in Montreal, but the others were really too far away to be much help in the short term.

Stiles had no intention of letting this become a long term problem.

When he finally made his way above ground again after the long commute, Stiles’ phone buzzed with a new voice message. He dialled in to listen to it immediately.

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice came excitedly through the speaker, “Chris came through. He has a contact in New York who can get you a meeting with the Arowatt Pack. He said he’ll get a meeting set up as quickly as possible and he’ll email through a time and place once it’s organised.

“He also warned that these guys can be pretty brutal if you get on their wrong side, so try not to piss them off. Hopefully they’ll have some information worth the risk. Their reputation is that they don’t put up with anyone threatening supernatural people in their territory even if it’s not directed at members of the pack. So I guess there’s a chance they’ll be willing to help.

“Anyway,” Scott sighed, any excitement that had been in his voice at the start of the message having faded into concern. “Call me when you get a chance.”

Stiles followed the directions that Noshiko had given him and soon found himself standing in the lobby of a modern apartment building. He called up to their apartment, hoping that one of Kira’s parents would be there to let him in.

It was Mr Yukimura who answered the call, buzzing Stiles into the building and opening the door for him when he reached their floor.

“Hi, Mr Yukimura,” Stiles greeted him through his fatigue, “Thanks for letting me stay with you.”

“Of course, Stiles,” Mr. Yukimura replied, “Anything we can do to help find Lydia.”

Stiles smiled as he followed Kira’s dad into the apartment.

“We’ve set you up in the guest room,” Mr Yukimura was explaining as he led the way down the wall, stopping at the second door on the right, “And Kira suggested some supplies that you might find useful.”

Stiles stepped through the door to find a large corkboard on one side of the room with a pile of coloured pins, strings and pens beside it.

He grinned gratefully, now he could really get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the amazing messages! I'm so glad that other people are enjoying this as much as I am. I guess that means I should stop doubting myself now and trust that this is actually as good as I want it to be.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you! In some ways this is kind of a filler chapter. Not a lot of important plot things happen, but it felt like I needed to take a pause between essential plot reveals to check in with the characters.

The woman who called herself Polly had returned only a few minutes after she’d left, this time carrying a large cardboard tube. She had informed Lydia that they would accept her negotiation for now and they would go out to get her some art supplies and a white noise machine as she’d requested. Until they returned, she advised, the banshees were to do the best they could with the leg bones that they had.

She handed the tube to Lydia and offered the warning that she only had until nightfall to convince them that she was doing her utmost to find the spike or they would go back to their original plan for encouragement.

With that said, she had left them alone for what felt like several hours.

After a quick check of the tube revealed that it held the promised human bones, Lydia put the cap back on and set it aside.

“Aren’t you going to try and find it?” Teresa asked anxiously.

“Not yet,” Lydia said, “My head is still killing me from whatever they drugged me with. It’s better to wait until it’s settled somewhat. Besides, we’ve got some time now.”

She and Teresa sat for a while, telling each other stories and talking about what they would do when they got out. Lydia had Teresa dreaming about meals that weren’t microwaved to just lukewarm, hour long showers, and an endless supply of toothpaste. It felt good to see the young girl looking hopeful and optimistic. Whenever Teresa started to get despondent again Lydia would launch into another story about her and Stiles taking on monsters. By the time the door opened again Teresa was so enamoured of the hero that Lydia described for her that Lydia worried she’d gone too far. Stiles was only human, after all, and far from infallible. But she knew that what Teresa needed most right now was hope. Believing that there was someone spectacular out there looking for them made it easier to be stuck in here.

It certainly made it easier for Lydia, knowing that Stiles was looking for her.

The door opened to reveal the man, who hadn’t introduced himself but who Teresa referred to as Nigel, laden down with a large sketch pad and a box of soft oil pastels. He set them down on the floor and backed out without a word. He returned several minutes later with a battery powered white noise machine.

“This is all you get,” He advised her, “And you’d better have something to show for it soon or we’ll be forced to conclude that you aren’t even trying. And since we’ve generously given you time to prove your commitment to our cause we would have to play catch up to make up for all of the hours we gave you without consequence.”

Lydia didn’t need him to spell it out to know what he really meant by this threat. She could feel the possibility of death closing in on this room and she knew that if she didn’t do everything exactly right then she and Teresa would both pay with their lives.

“What did you get from the bones?” He asked, gesturing to the sealed cardboard tube, “Why aren’t you working on that now?”

“They’re too loud,” Lydia told him with a calculated cringe, “It’s like a cacophony. I can’t make out anything specific through the chaos. Hopefully the white noise will help cut out some of the background noise attached to them.”

“Hopefully isn’t going to cut it here.” Nigel replied, “You’ve got until sunset.”

He backed out the door, slamming it shut behind himself.

Lydia took a deep breath after he’d left and considered her options.

She was counting on these two not knowing much about how banshee power actually worked. The fact that they’d taken her word on the need for tools put a point in favour of her theory that they probably hadn’t dealt with banshees directly before. The supernatural soundproofing on the other hand indicated that they had at least done a great deal of reading and probably talked to someone with first-hand knowledge. But, she hoped, surely if they actually knew any experienced banshees they wouldn’t have needed to kidnap them.

She couldn’t be certain, but she was counting on them not knowing when she was telling the truth about her power and when she was lying.

Lydia had learned how to get people to react the way she wanted as she climbed her way to the top of the social heap in high school. Generally she’d done so then by hiding any fear or disappointment, but she knew how to play it the other way too. She could keep them distracted and appeased for a while at least. She had to.

If she didn’t, then Teresa would die.

\-   -

Stiles was staring at his board while Scott watched blearily from his laptop screen. After Kira’s parents had forced him to rest and eat dinner he had called Scott and Kira while he set up his board. They had talked about everything for hours. They had speculated about whether Scott should come to help or if calling in someone closer would be a good idea. They had reviewed every tiny detail that they’d each come across during the day. They’d remained online with each other while they again called all of the people that they’d earmarked as being close to Lydia to make sure no one had seen or heard from her.

When Chris had finally come through with the details for Stiles to meet with the local werewolf pack they ran through everything that they knew about them, including the new insight that they wouldn’t take well to another alpha showing up in town and might not be impressed with the lowly human member of a rival pack either.

They’d eventually run out of things to actually talk about and Scott had silently watched while Stiles moved pieces around his board and then back to where they’d started over and over again. Kira had drifted off with her head on the table a while ago.

It was almost 2am when Scott finally spoke up.

“Dude,” He said wearily, “I don’t think there’s anything more we can do tonight. We need more information and that’s going to have to wait until tomorrow. So you should go to sleep. You have to meet some mafia-type in 7 hours.”

Stiles sighed. “I know, I just hate doing nothing while she’s out there. How am I meant to sleep when they could be torturing her right now?”

“By remembering that sleep is important,” Scott suggested, “And that you won’t be able to find her at all if you can’t think straight because you’re exhausted. At least try to sleep?”

Stiles nodded and after a quick goodbye to Scott and the promise to call him as soon as his meeting with the Pack liaison was done he dragged himself over to the bed and climbed in.

He felt like there was a lump of lead in his stomach. He didn’t feel like he’d achieved anything all day, though he knew that they had a whole lot more to go on than they’d had at this time yesterday.

With a jolt that he realised that it was about this time yesterday that Lydia had called him. He could barely believe it had only been 24 hours. He felt like she’d been gone for days. He felt like he’d been failing to find her for weeks.

Stiles knew he hadn’t talked to Lydia for a long time. He’d been kind of lax when it came to their friendship, but he always had the comforting knowledge that she was just a phone call or Facebook message away. And he’d always been certain that whenever he got around to making that call or sending that message they would pick up where they’d left off, because a few months or years didn’t matter in the long run.

But now she was gone, and he was snooping around her life like a stalker trying to figure out what was important and what wasn’t and he couldn’t help thinking this would be so much easier if he already knew the tiny day-to-day details of her life. That was the bit that you lost when you drifted apart. Not the friendship itself, or the support and knowledge that they would be there when you reached out to them. Not the ability to laugh at the same jokes or talk about nothing and everything when you were together again. No, when you let a friendship fade into the background it was the detail that you lost. The relationship was still just as important; still such a huge part of the foundation of your own identity; but it wasn’t woven into every other thing around you.

He didn’t know which way Lydia liked to walk to classes. He didn’t know how much time she spent doing her hair in the mornings. He didn’t know which café served a scone that she just couldn’t resist, or how often she gave in and got one. He didn’t know what books she was reading or what TV shows she was binging.

He wondered, lying there in the dark trying to sleep, how much those little things made up the whole package. He always thought that they would be friends no matter how long they left their friendship untended and he’d always, even now, counted her among the people that he knew the best. But if he didn’t know her café then what else didn’t he know? When did the details add up to a whole different person?

He wouldn’t know until he found her. So he had to find her. And when he did, he resolved, he would find out all of those answers and more. And he wouldn’t let those things slip to the wayside again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my mind. This is not a filler chapter. It's totally necessary for the story.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really intended to get this chapter out to you yesterday but, well, life. You know? 
> 
> The next few chapters are where I dithered endlessly (not endlessly, I'm putting an end to it right now) about what order to put things in for the best flow of the story but without causing confusion. Hopefully no confusion anyway. If you get confused let me know.

After a less then restful night Stiles found himself sitting in Noshiko’s car outside a used bookstore downtown. Since Noshiko didn’t have to work on Saturdays she had offered to accompany him and he didn’t want to admit how relieved he was to have the Kitsune as back up in this meeting.

Chris Argent’s contact, it turned out, was not another hunter as Stiles had expected, but rather the owner of a bookstore that specialised in rare mythological and occult texts. He was affiliated somehow with the Arowatt Pack and for a fee he would set up meetings between their liaison and outsiders.

Stiles and Noshiko made their way into the store and across to the desk where a disgruntled looking man watched them.

“Um, hi,” Stiles introduced himself as Chris had instructed, “I’m Stiles. Are you Boris?”

The man stared at him without reaction for a moment leaving Stiles to wonder if he’d managed to get the wrong bookstore. The man turned to give Noshiko a similar look.

“Argent didn’t mention anything about her,” He finally answered, “She’ll have to wait down here.”

Stiles exchanged a glance with Noshiko.

“I don’t think that’s wise, Stiles,” Noshiko advised. “I haven’t dealt with this pack before but I’ve seen others like them. They will take advantage of you if you give them a chance.”

Stiles nodded resolutely.

“Probably,” He agreed, “But we need more information about what’s going on in this city and they’re our best source. We can’t just wait for something to fall into our laps.”

Noshiko sighed, “Alright, but Kira will be very disappointed in me if I let you get hurt so try not to annoy them too much.”

Stiles plastered an insulted look on his face, “Annoying? Me?”

Boris shoved his way out from behind the counter, gesturing for Stiles to follow him. Pushing back the growing anxiety, Stiles trailed behind him through a door marked ‘Private’ and upstairs to a small room overlooking the back alley.

“Wait here.” Boris instructed. “They will come here when they arrive.”

With that, Boris left Stiles alone with his imagination.

The room was sparsely furnished with only one functioning chair, but several boxes and shelves of books filled the space. Stiles wandered over to the window to peer out over the detritus of the back alley.

He tried going over the facts that they’d learned about this pack, but he realised that he really had no idea what to expect. Everything they had to go on was rumour and hearsay, mostly filtered through Scott who had put a Godfather twist on everything he passed along. Stiles was certain that the image in his head wasn’t going to be remotely accurate, but the problem was he didn’t know if it would be better or worse than he was picturing.

Probably they weren’t leaving bits of horses in people’s beds, right?

He started pacing, running through all of the worst case scenarios his creative mind could come up with. After a few minutes he found that at some point he’d switched to picturing all of the terrible things that could be happening to Lydia at that moment.

A flash of movement caught his eye and he turned to see a car pulling into the back alley. With a huge mental effort he managed to drag his breathing back from the edge of hyperventilation.  He peered curiously out of the window, hoping to get a glimpse of the person he was meeting, but he couldn’t get an angle with a view of the car door.

Instead, he was forced to wait, carefully counting out his breaths, rehearsing what he needed to say, until finally the door behind him opened.

The woman who walked in was not what he had expected. He had met quite a few werewolves over the years and they’d always tended towards the unkempt. Though, he had to concede, that might have been due to the large proportion who had been teenagers at the time. This woman, however, looked… corporate.

“Stiles, right?” She moved into the room purposefully, “I’m Jasmine Arthur, Marketing and Communications Director for the Arowatt Corporation.”

The statement threw Stiles off balance and instead of his carefully planned pitch he found himself blurting, “You guys advertise?”

Jasmine gave him a suitably professional smile as she responded, “Not for this side of the business, which is why it’s particularly important to be aware of how people find us. So why don’t you tell me how you got Boris’ information?”

Stiles hesitated, trying to gather the lost threads of his planned conversation.

“I’m looking for someone, a friend of mine.” He began.

“We’ll get to your reason for requesting this meeting in a moment. What I need to know first is how you convinced Boris to set up this appointment.” Jasmine interrupted him.

“Oh, um…” Stiles forced his thoughts down this alternate path, getting rather annoyed at the way she was guiding the conversation away from what he wanted to talk about. “Well, we pretty much asked everybody we could think of who could have been able to help. The person who got back to us with a solid answer first was a hunter. An Argent.”

Jasmine frowned at this, “The Argents aren’t welcome in this city. We made that clear 40 years ago when they caused an unacceptable disruption.”

“Hey, I’m not the biggest Argent fan either,” Stiles assured her, “And if you want to compare evil Argent stories then I could talk all day. Like I said, we talked to everybody we could think of. That included the one Argent that we actually trust. He made the arrangements with Boris and I don’t even know what kind of favours he had to call in to do it.”

“And who exactly is we?” Jasmine asked, “More hunters?”

“Not so much,” Stiles replied, his tendency to ramble taking over “My associates tend to be more on the non-human side of the spectrum. Technically, I guess I’m part of a werewolf pack back in California. But it’s certainly not structured anything like yours. In fact, the non-werewolves frequently outnumber the werewolves. But I suppose that if you’ve got an alpha werewolf then it’s a werewolf pack regardless of the rest of the members, right? Wait, what if the alpha doesn’t have a pack at all? Does that make them an alpha omega?”

Jasmine gave him an odd look as he struggled to shut down his blathering. “I’m surprised you don’t know the answer to that if you’re part of a pack. It’s a fundamental part of what makes us. You can’t have an alpha without a pack. The pack is what gives the alpha power.”

“Oh,” Stiles nodded, “Right, I knew that. I mean, I knew that the pack gives the alpha power, I just hadn’t thought about it the other way before.”

“Is this why you wanted to talk to me?” Jasmine asked impatiently.

“No.” Stiles drew his focus back to the problem, “I wanted to talk to you about disappearing banshees.”

Jasmine raised an eyebrow at him, “We don’t exactly keep track of banshees. Or invite them to the company parties.”

“I’ve been told that you guys enforce your own laws in the area, keeping other supernatural groups in line, making sure nothing too remarkable goes on. They tell me you make a practice of swift justice and vicious retaliation against anyone who threatens the status quo. But the rumour is that you also protect those who aren’t a threat to you – to a certain extent. They say that supernatural individuals who just want somewhere to live peacefully and undisturbed come here because you offer some safety and freedom that other places can’t. Which is why I’m hoping you’ll be willing to help me. Because two banshees have been kidnapped in your city, and that’s not a good look for your control.”

“This is the first I’ve heard about any unexplained disappearances in our area.” Jasmine replied, “If I haven’t heard about it then no one has, so trying to use our reputation as leverage isn’t going to work very well.”

“Well, like I said,” Stiles found himself drawn into the debate now, “We talked to everybody we could think of. That might not be a lot of people by your measure, or anyone in your circles, but word’s going to spread. And the next time someone mentions it you won’t be able to claim ignorance. You’ll have to admit that you heard about it and chose to do nothing.”

Jasmine inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement, “While you may have a point in theory, the truth is that no one cares about banshees. They’re rarely worth the effort.”

“What qualifies as being worth the effort?” Stiles asked angrily, “If a 13 year old girl who never hurt anyone being snatched from her bed isn’t worth your notice then what the hell is?”

“Why would anyone take a banshee so young?” A tiny hint of interest slipped into Jasmine’s expression, “I may not know much about their kind, but I know that they’re notoriously unreliable when they’re young and famously unhinged when they’re older.”

“Well, maybe that’s why they came back for a second one.” Stiles answered irritably, “The first wasn’t experienced enough to find whatever it is that they’re looking for so they grabbed a banshee who mastered her powers years ago. But she heard them coming and she called me.”

“Hmm,” Jasmine tilted her head to the side thoughtfully, “I’ll grant that someone should probably look into this, but it seems like you’re on top of the situation. We won’t interfere with your search as long as you don’t cross our lines. Beyond that, I see no reason to offer you any further assistance.”

“This is happening in your town!” Stiles tried desperately, “Don’t you care about what these people are up to here? Don’t you care about looking after the people under your jurisdiction?”

“Not particularly,” Jasmine smiled and checked her watch, “But I’m feeling generous. I can spare three more minutes of my time. Ask any questions you have quickly and I’ll see if I can give you any pointers.”

Stiles froze for a fraction of a second then scrambled to pull out his notebook, not wanting to waste the time she was offering.

“Ok,” He flipped through the pages, “Is there someone who might know about mythical artefacts or legends unique to this area?”

“Boris has books on all sorts of things. If you have the money to buy them then he will be most forthcoming.” Jasmine replied.

Stiles rolled his eyes at this answer and glanced back at his notes. “Does piano music and mechanical clicking mean anything to you?”

Jasmine gave him an incredulous look before replying, “No.”

“Are there any people you have been keeping an eye on who might be involved? Anyone who started making waves recently? Anything at all that’s outside of your normal?”

Jasmine ticked items off on her fingers, “Some hunters arrived in town several weeks ago, name of Barrett. We advised them of our expectations for hunters when we became aware of their presence. So far they haven’t acted outside our limitations. An old dissenter begged permission to come back to town to visit his dying mother, again he hasn’t made any suspicious moves though we are keeping an eye on him. We’ve had an uncommonly high number of migrating wendigoes passing though, but most are moving on as quickly as they are arriving and those who stay are sufficiently discrete.”

She glanced pointedly at her watch, “Last question.”

“Ah, okay,” Stiles scanned his notes frantically, trying to ignore the chill that went through him at the thought of ‘sufficiently discrete’ wendigoes. “I managed to talk to another banshee who is related to the first girl who was taken. She’s definitely tuned into something, but she’s been disconnected from reality for a while so it wasn’t making a lot of sense. She said a bunch of things. Let me know if any of them mean anything to you.

“She said, um, ‘They’ll kill her if they don’t find it’, and ‘the mint cake is the last to go,’ and ‘if they find it all will fall,’ and ‘7-3-1-14-8-5-22,’ and she kept repeating ‘no story, no smell, no sight can find it.’ Does any of that ring a bell?” Stiles rattled off. He glanced up from his notes to find her staring at him with a very different look in her eye from the disinterest that had been there before.

“Let me see that.” She demanded, snatching the notebook from his grasp. She scanned through the page, frowning, “How reliable would you say any of this is if she’s not connected to reality?”

“I can guarantee that some of this is 100% right and incredibly important.” Stiles promised, “Unfortunately I’m pretty sure that a bunch of it is completely irrelevant non-sense. I just have no way of knowing which part is which.

“But if something there means something to you then I would bet every single meagre dollar I have that it’s very, very real.” Stiles assured her.

“You’ll have to come with me.” Jasmine declared, turning towards the door.

“What?” Stiles stepped backwards instinctively. “Why? What happened to three minutes?”

“Look, Stiles,” Jasmine turned back to look him in the eye with a serious gaze, “This could be a complete waste of my time, but there are a few things on this list that point to a very disturbing possibility. And if you’re right about the reliability of banshee prediction then this is officially worth our notice.”

“So…” Stiles hesitated, “Where are you planning on taking me?”

“I’m not the most well-versed in the topic,” Jasmine admitted, “It’s outside of my job description. So I need you to come with me and tell your story, including all the little details I’ve been ignoring, to our pack historian. He’ll be able to confirm whether this could be what I’m thinking.”

Stiles hesitated again, “I… I feel like my dad would be really upset if I just got in the car with a strange werewolf who happens to be part of some giant mafia-type pack.”

“Feel free to contact your alpha. Tell him that Jasmine Arthur is taking you to see Aras Tuovuk at 77 West 34th Street. While there you will not be able to communicate with anyone but we will guarantee that you will be given an opportunity to check in within three hours. Agreed?”

“Wow…” Stiles blinked at her quick response to his discomfort, “Do you broker deals like this a lot?”

Jasmine glared at him, “Just make the call, kid.”

“Wait,” Stiles paused, “I have a friend downstairs. Can she come with me?”

Jasmine gave him a thoughtful look, “If this is what I think it might be then it’s getting into information that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands. We may need you for this, but I would rather not involve strangers. So I will give you one chance to convince me to bring her along. How much do you trust your friend downstairs? Be honest and be descriptive; vague, exaggerated assurances won’t cut it here.”

Stiles took a moment to consider the question and what the right answer might be before choosing to just try honesty.

“She’s actually the mother of a friend.” He explained, “Her daughter is my best friend’s girlfriend and one of the non-wolf members of the pack. I would trust _her_ with the lives of everyone that I love. Her mother is a bit harder to call. In all of our battles she’s definitely been an ally, even when she was trying to kill me to get rid of the Nogitsune possessing me, but she’s a 900 year old Kitsune so her priorities and moral lines are not always the same as mine. I guess if I’m being completely honest I would say that I trust her to save the world, but I wouldn’t always trust her to save a friend.”

Jasmine nodded at his description. “Very well, she can join us. Call your alpha.”

“Right,” Stiles pulled out his phone and dialled Scott. He passed along, with a few prompts from Jasmine, the details she’d given him. Once he’d hung up Jasmine led the way downstairs to the bookstore.

“Collect your friend,” She instructed as she pulled out her own phone and stepped away to make a call.

Stiles glanced around until he spotted Noshiko leaning against a bookshelf, flipping idly through a children’s book.

“Noshiko!” Stiles called as he approached her, “We’ve been invited to go back to their lair and talk to their crypt keeper. Wanna come?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're all very curious now about what could be going on. Well, coming up in the next chapter, all of your questions... still won't be answered.  
> Sorry.   
> Not really sorry.  
> Soon! Soon there will be answers.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to check in with Lydia? Time to check in with Lydia! It's been a long and eventful night since we last saw her and we should probably have a look at what's been going on.

Lydia knew that information was the only useful tool she had in this place. Though she felt considerably better as the day wore on and she knew that her voice could be used as a final defence if necessary, she also believed their captors when they said that attacking one of them wouldn’t get them out of this room. She’d inspected the soundproof airlock into their cell as best she could and knew that they could easily follow through on the threat to leave the banshees there to starve to death. Which meant, for the moment, using her voice, or anything else for that matter, as a weapon would remain as plan B.

Which meant she needed a plan A.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Nigel that the bones were giving off a confusing mess of noise. Tuning into the sounds she’d been blocking out for so long had been more instinctive than she’d expected and she was hearing a lot of things coming from those bones, but it didn’t give her enough to be able to understand or control the situation. If she could just understand it then she could figure out how to control it.

After taking a moment to reassure Teresa that she wasn’t as scared as she’d appeared when talking to the man, Lydia set about trying to find the information he was after.

She already knew that she couldn’t just give it to him. She could hear whispers that told her finding it could cause a lot more deaths than the two lives currently at risk. She also didn’t have to be a banshee to know that these people didn’t intend to let her and Teresa go if they got what they wanted. If she was going to get Teresa out of here alive then she needed time and she needed to know what she was dealing with. That would mean going full banshee in a way that she hadn’t done since she left California. Once she had a line on this spike then she could decide what to do with the information.

She spent the next hours trying several different things to lock down answers. She turned the white noise machine on to a bunch of different settings; she held the bones in her hands, dropped them to the ground, and rubbed them against each other, listening to the vibrations; she doodled aimlessly on the sketch pad and found herself repeatedly drawing a familiar pattern that meant absolutely nothing to her.

Teresa tried to help, drawing things herself and wincing as she too heard the pain and chaos attached to the bones.

They both anxiously checked the window, tension mounting as the light faded.

More than ever, Lydia was certain that she couldn’t allow them to find the spike. She could hear it now, it was calling out to her clearly through the chatter. It sounded like death; painful, degrading death. The kind of death that came as a relief after something much worse.

Fortunately, she had managed to make out a few other things as well, things that might just buy them some time.

When the door finally opened and Polly entered, a large hammer in her hand, Lydia was ready. Teresa wasn’t. She slid quickly backwards into the furthest corner from the door, stifling a sob. Lydia glanced at her and then shifted to stand between Polly and Teresa.

“Well,” Polly raised the hammer slowly to point it unsubtly towards Teresa, “I hope that you’ve got something valuable to offer. What have you been working on all day?” She asked with a nod towards the pages of drawings.

Lydia glanced at them, letting a tremor slip into her voice as she replied, “Honestly, I have no idea what that is. I just kept drawing it so it’s probably important somehow, but I don’t know how. Sometimes it works that way; you don’t know what it means until it’s right in front of you.”

Polly looked unhappy at this and stepped forward menacingly.

“But I do have something else!” Lydia offered quickly, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not certain about it either, usually I can google things or go tracking the clues I get so I’m not sure what you’ll find with this. There’s more than one place that the bones are calling out to so I don’t know which might be the spike.”

Polly stepped back slightly, scowling in distrust.

“Give me what you have,” She said, “But if they don’t lead to something useful then you’re out of warnings. Someone bleeds if I don’t get that spike.”

Lydia rattled off the clues that she could offer. They were a mishmash of different kinds of leads, but she hoped that confusion would slow them down. If she was lucky she would have until morning before they were certain that none of her offerings would lead to the spike.

Polly grabbed one of the drawings Lydia had done and scrawled her words on the back with one of the soft oil pastels. When Lydia was done Polly glanced at the other drawings and then scooped them up too before making her way out of the room.

Once the door was securely closed Teresa spoke up.

“So they’ll find it now?” She asked.

“No,” Lydia admitted, “We need to get out of here before they realise that.”

She turned her attention to the walls, running her hands over the smooth surface, inspecting the seams where the panels of plasticy material met. She focussed particularly on the edges of the door. The lining overlapped by at least an inch at every juncture and Lydia couldn’t find a single spot that looked weaker than the rest.

Eventually settling on a place that she thought would be least obvious to the camera, she put her fingertips against the wall and focussed on the smallest area she could.

“Block your ears,” She instructed Teresa and waited for the girl to put her hands up to her head before she drew in a breath and screamed. She kept her focus fixed on the smallest possible spot, imagining her voice as a drill piercing the fabric of the wall.

When she ran out of breath she leaned forwards to inspect the outcome. There wasn’t a single crack in the clear covering or in the plaster behind it. She swore in frustration and settled back on her heels.

“What was that?” Teresa asked shakily as she lowered her hands.

Lydia glanced at her, “Your voice can be a weapon, Teresa. If you can learn to control it you can break through walls... just not these ones, apparently. I’ve never seen soundproofing like this before.”

Lydia sighed, “Maybe it will work better on the corners.”

Lydia tried the corners of the room in the same manner. She tried the edges of the door. She climbed on top of the sink and tried the ceiling. When her voice failed she tried her hands, battering at the walls with her fists, with the weak cardboard tube, and even with the leg bones they’d given her. She stopped trying to hide her actions from the camera, Nigel’s taunt about her attempts to escape being entertaining just spurred her to try harder.

Polly came back a few hours later with food for the evening and the message that her clues hadn’t turned into anything useful yet and she was looking forward to taking her disappointment out on Teresa if that didn’t change by morning.

As the night wore on and Teresa dropped soundly into sleep beside her Lydia found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling. She could feel death moving closer. She knew that someone would die the next day, but she couldn’t tell yet who it might be, and she couldn’t think of anything else she could do to make sure it wasn’t Teresa. She gave up on sleep eventually and paced quietly, trying not to disturb Teresa who, accustomed to sleeping in this place after so many days, was blissfully unconscious of the situation as she slumbered.

She could still hear the hum of the spike and was certain that if she wanted to she could find it, but more than anything she did not want to find it. The feel of it made her skin crawl. It hummed of death and suffering and power. She couldn’t tell what it was or what it did, but she knew whatever it was it needed to remain unfound.

By the time the sun rose Lydia’s stomach was in knots of anxiety and her feet were chaffed from pacing back and forth on the cold concrete floor. She was terrified that her plans had failed and the pair outside would kill Teresa for her attempts to deceive them. But she’d played her hand, the best one she could come up with, and there was nothing left to do but wait and see how it fell.

When Teresa awoke she immediately picked up on Lydia’s, granted, not well concealed anxiety. She shrank in on herself in her usual response to the threat of death, pulling herself into the corner and drawing her knees in as tight as they could get.

Lydia found herself desperately wishing that the door would open so that she could find out what was going to happen. She couldn’t do anything until she knew. Even knowing that they had decided to kill Teresa would be better than this pacing. At least then she could act, even if it meant screaming a hole in the head of whoever came in.

When the door finally did open she changed her mind. She felt woefully unprepared and defenceless if they weren’t going to accept her misdirection. But she placed herself between Teresa and the opening door, fists clenched in anticipation. She would protect the child, whatever it took.

And if it was the only way, then she would kill whoever came through that door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger! How cruel of me. I guess I'd better update reliably this week or you might never forgive me :)


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having some technical difficulties here but if I don't get this out now then I won't be able to post it for days. So I'm attempting to upload this from my not-all-that-smartphone. No idea if it will work! It's also a completely unchecked version so if you spot any mistakes let me know so I can fix them. But who knows, this might be one of the rare mistake free chapters. I did go over it a few times while I was writing it because exposition is hard.  
> That's right, I said exposition. You're about to get some real actual answers in here.

Noshiko insisted on driving herself and Stiles to the address that Jasmine gave them. She argued that it was an obvious precaution to take with people that they didn’t entirely trust.

It was a short drive from the bookshop and they soon found themselves outside of an unassuming building. Stepping inside the front door, however, revealed a great deal of intimidating security. They had to wait for Jasmine to arrive to vouch for them before they were issued with temporary swipe cards and allowed through to the elevators.

Jasmine took the lead, selecting the button for the fourth floor. The doors opened to reveal a brightly lit lobby with one door leading off of it, ornately decorated with some kind of intricate metal pattern. They made their way through the door into the short hallway beyond and then through the identically decorative door at the far end of the hall.

Stiles found himself staring around in awe. The room they’d found themselves in could only be labelled a library, due to the amazing number of books filling the large space, but unlike any public library this was clearly not designed for ease of use. There were whole aisles that were inaccessible behind boxes or shelves or tables, all covered in books themselves. The entire right wall was covered in deep shelves and cabinets and drawers that were filled not only with a considerable number of books but also with a seemingly random collection of objects. Stiles even thought he glimpsed, through the slightly open door of a cabinet, a human skull staring out at him.

“Welcome to the Arowatt Archive,” Jasmine smiled at the look on his face, “Don’t touch anything.”

As they moved into the room a man entered from a door on the other side.

“Jasmine,” said the man, “What brings you here? I thought you hated my clutter.”

“Hate is a strong word, Aras,” Jasmine countered, “But entirely accurate in this case. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.

“And what could be so important that it would be worth a visit?” Asked Aras, who fell well outside of Stiles expectations for a werewolf historian. He had expected someone older, balder and, frankly, whiter. The only thing about Aras that lined up with his expectation was the tweed jacket that he wore.

“This is Stiles and Noshiko,” Jasmine gestured at them, “They’ve just informed me that two banshees have been kidnapped in the city by someone who is looking for something that can’t be found by sight or smell or story; which sounded a little too familiar to me.”

“Ah, the bronze barb,” Aras nodded, intrigued, “One of the most interesting stories in our collection.”

“The bronze barb?” Stiles asked dubiously, “That doesn’t sound very impressive.”

“Indeed, that may be the point; though it’s hard to say when it comes to oral tradition. The item in question was meant to be forgotten by history. Giving it a suitably intimidating name would have incited curiosity.” Aras replied.

“I was always told this story as a fiction,” Jasmine mentioned, “Is there really any chance that it could be accurate?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Aras replied enthusiastically, “In fact, my research indicates that the majority of the stories in our collection are based in fact to some extent. In this case, the insistence that the story not be written down indicates to me the kind of paranoia that can only spring from true fear. Not to mention, we do in fact have the hand bones described in the story.”

“Hand bones?” Stiles recoiled instinctively, “What the hell kind of story is this?”

“The story tells of a legendary weapon,” Aras began, “That would grant humans total control over those bound to an animal spirit, or would grant shape-shifters total control over humans. The story was written off as fiction and myth until, several centuries ago, a tyrant found the bronze barb and used its power to cut a swath across North America.”

“Aras,” Jasmine cautioned, “Is it really wise to tell them this story? If there is a chance that this is true and people are indeed looking for it now shouldn’t we take care, now more than ever, to keep that story contained within the family? There is a reason that it was only ever shared with core members of the pack.”

Aras wilted visibly in disappointment, clearly excited by the prospect of recounting the entire story.

“Come on,” Stiles argued, “You wouldn’t even know this was happening if it wasn’t for me. We can help each other with this.”

“And what could you offer us, Stiles?” Jasmine asked unkindly, “You’ve already given us the only real information you had to offer; that a banshee could be used to find the barb.”

“Right,” Stiles poured a heavy serving of sarcasm into his voice, “And you guys, who don’t think banshees are worth your notice, are going to be able to find one, convince her to help you, get her to hear the right thing amongst all the other death going on in this city, and be able to interpret whatever she manages to pass along, all before the people who started that process three weeks ago get there?”

Jasmine gritted her teeth in frustration at his tone, but allowed Noshiko to step in more diplomatically.

“We currently want the same things,” the Kitsune bargained, “We want to recover the banshees before anyone can use them to find this object. We each have information and experience that may be valuable in achieving that result. We may be able to offer a new perspective on this story that you’ve heard so many times before.”

“Fine,” Jasmine growled, “But you need to understand that this is not a story to be shared freely, and if we have reason to believe that allowing the story to be known outside of our pack could be a threat then we will go to any lengths necessary to contain it. If you still want to hear it-“

“Yes.” Stiles replied immediately, cutting her off, “Definitely want to hear it. Death threats aren’t going to sway me.”

Noshiko merely nodded gracefully.

Jasmine sighed in annoyance but gestured to Aras to continue.

“So, several centuries ago there was a tyrant,” Aras continued gladly, “The account is vague on whether she was already a leader or if the bronze barb is what gave her the power to become a tyrant. There is also no account for how she came to be in possession of the object. What we do know is that she used the barb to build an enormous army of mind-controlled werewolves which she used to conquer large sections of the continent.

“Mind control is traditionally very difficult and unreliable,” Aras mentioned tangentially, “I have never come across any other source that tells of such a simple and far-reaching mind control. If the story is true then it would indicate that our knowledge of the practice is incredibly limited.

“The tyrant, who goes intentionally unnamed through the telling, liked in particular to collect alphas. When she arrived in an area she would seek out any alphas and command them to join her. She enjoyed the initial discord within each pack when the alpha would order their betas to join her army. Before any defections could occur she would order the rest of the werewolves to join her as well. The packs added to her growing army, while the alphas she kept closer to herself; providing an elite guard around her. When she felt that she was getting too many for an efficient guard force she would pit the alphas against each other, forcing them to fight to the death so that the winner became more powerful by absorbing the pack of the loser.

“The humans in her path did not escape unscathed in the course of her conquest. Though the power of the barb couldn’t affect them, the tyrant used her werewolf army to subdue and enslave humans in the more traditional ways; through brute force. When she arrived in an area with a resident werewolf pack she would use the local wolves to commit the most atrocious crimes. But when she got bored of a place she would leave behind a small force of werewolves who had been with her army for a while to maintain control and ensure that food and supplies being produced by the humans were sent on for the army’s use. And so a wide trail of starving, downtrodden people was left in her wake.

“At some point in her travels she came across a town with a high population of werewolves who lived openly and peacefully with their human neighbours. The humans of the area were unwilling to watch their neighbours and families forced into slavery under her will and they tried to stage a coup to free them. The resulting battle left every human dead. All but one. One human who had been particularly close to the pack and had provided advice and wisdom to the alpha; similar to what we might call an emissary today; survived the attack and he endeavoured to follow the army, hoping to free his werewolf family and seek justice for his human family by finding a way to kill the tyrant.

“This was no easy task for, even if one could get past the vast army of werewolves and the concentrated circle of alphas around her, the tyrant was also paranoid. Though she allowed people to approach her from time to time bringing bribes or supplications, she never accepted any gift until it had been thoroughly scrutinised, and never tasted any food until the person offering it had tasted it first. Though the emissary found several volunteers across the lands willing to try, not one weapon got close to the tyrant, and all who tried were killed.

“By the time they reached this area of the continent the emissary was running out of allies as more and more people lost hope in the face of the tyrant’s merciless and seemingly unbreakable command. One day, however, the emissary was approached by two young children. The offspring of werewolves, they explained, they were too young to feel the effect of the barb, and had instead been forced to watch their entire family turn on each other and then abandon them when the tyrant came calling. They begged the emissary to help them free their family, no matter the cost.

“The tyrant had been resting in a large settlement for several days – enjoying the luxuries that staying still in a place that was fully conquered afforded her – when she agreed to accept supplicants. People came with every kind of offering, from money to furs to food, seeking every kind of boon, from mercy to power to prosperity. Some she turned away without comment. Others she killed without mercy. A few requests she granted, or promised to grant if the asker could only provide more than what they had already offered.

“She was getting somewhat bored with the repetitive offerings of gold and fabrics when two children approached her.

“The boy spoke, ‘Please great lady, our parents and siblings have joined your mighty army and have left us with no food or shelter or means of surviving the winter. With my sister’s help I have gathered every piece of metal we could find to trade for this bottle of wine. It is the most delicious liquid to be produced in this area and is very rare as it can only be made from berries harvested at midnight on the shortest day of the year. Please accept this offering and allow our family to go free so that we may live to bring you more marvels in the future.’

“The tyrant was intrigued by this gift as she had not heard of such a drink, but she prided herself on having the most exceptional things in the world. She was sorely tempted to take the wine immediately, but she exerted caution on herself and instructed the boy to taste the drink first. Under her watchful gaze the child took a measured sip from the bottle. An expression of delight and surprise immediately crossed his face, causing the tyrant to quickly order her guards to seize the bottle lest the thirsty child try to drink the rest.

“She placed the bottle carefully beside her, patiently waiting for any signs that the boy may be suffering from poison of any kind. As she watched him, his sister stepped forward.

“The girl spoke, ‘Please great lady, our parents and siblings have joined your mighty army and have left us with no food or shelter or means of surviving the winter. With my brother’s help I have gathered every piece of cloth we could find to trade for this sweetbread. It is the most succulent delicacy to be produced in this area and is very rare as the ingredients can only be gathered once every two years. Please accept this offering and allow our family to go free so that we may live to bring you more marvels in the future.’

“The tyrant was captivated by this gift as she had never heard of such a rare delicacy and she endeavoured to lay claim to all of the most outstanding things in the world. She was sorely tempted to take the treat immediately, but she forced herself to take her usual precaution as she ordered the girl to taste the sweetbread first. Under her watchful gaze the child took a delicate bite out of the morsel. An expression of joy and desire crossed her face, causing the tyrant to leap from her seat and seize the rest of the delight lest the starving child try to consume the whole.

“After a moment of hesitation, the tyrant set the sweetbread carefully beside her, forcing her greed into patience as she watched to see if either child would react to their tastes.

“After several minutes of silence, as the children fidgeted anxiously under her gaze, the tyrant spoke.

“‘Your gifts are generous but meagre,’ she announced, ‘This will hardly satisfy me for an hour. It is certainly not worth an entire family. But I am nothing if not generous. For your efforts you may have one hour in the company of one of your family members within the bounds of my camp. Then you will be permitted to leave here with your lives.’

“At her proclamation the children looked in unison to one of the alphas standing guard at the edge of the room.

“‘Ah,’ said the tyrant as she picked up the sweetbread and devoured the entire thing in three bites. ‘So it’s one of my own dear guards you’re after. And one that I’ve barely gotten to know yet. No, though this truly was a spectacular delicacy it is certainly not worth him.’

“She licked her fingers in delight as the delicate flavours of the sweetbread lingered on her tongue.

“She then reached for the wine and downed the entire bottle in two large gulps. She licked her lips in satisfaction at the rich flavours as she set the bottle aside. She looked back at the children, contemplating whether it was worth letting them live after all only to find them staring at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. It was mere moments before she realised that it was not their gaze that was making her uncomfortable but a burning sensation that began in her stomach and started spreading down her limbs.

“She drew in a sharp gasp as she felt a stabbing pain begin in her abdomen. She gasped out, ‘How?’

“The girl smiled as she answered simply, ‘Each alone is harmless, but together we will kill you.’

“The woman could feel her lungs seizing up and with great effort she forced three final words through her closing airway. ‘Tear them apart.’

“Her command was barely a whisper and only those standing within the room heard it, but the instant that the order reached their ears her elite alpha guard sprang towards the helpless children. As they did the tyrant’s airway closed completely and moments later her heart stopped beating. 

“At the moment when she crossed from life to death every were-creature across the land who had ever been touched by her commands found themselves free once more. But for those within the room it was already too late. They came back to themselves with tears in their eyes and the blood of their saviours on their claws.

“When their tears and laments had eased the alphas set to discussing what should be done with the tyrant and the barb that had granted her such power. It was too dangerous an object, they agreed, to be allowed to remain in the open, and great arguments began about who could be trusted to protect or destroy it. Finally, it was the father of the children who offered a solution all could agree to. There was a holy ground, he told them, not far from the place they stood, which could be found neither by sight nor by smell and could not be passed along by story. The barb would be safe in this place, he promised, unfindable by any of them.

“The alphas agreed and proceeded to extract the barb from the body of the tyrant. They carried it to the holy ground and, as a mark of respect, laid the children who had died to save them to rest beside it. They then destroyed the means by which they were able to locate the place and agreed never to allow anyone to seek the barb again. To this end, each promised to ensure that no one would ever speak of these events and the entire story would be forgotten by history. However, they also feared allowing the knowledge of this threat to disappear completely from all memory in case someone managed to uncover the barb in the future.

“And so the alphas agreed to pass the story down within their own families. Never to be recorded, but always to be remembered. To that end, they divided the corpse of the tyrant into pieces, one for each alpha, and when they left to return to their homes across the continent they carried with them a piece of the woman who had caused such strife so that they would never forget the evil that humans were capable of or the price their freedom had cost.

“Which is why this story has been passed on through the generations of our pack, along with the bones from the tyrant’s left hand. So the sacrifice will always be remembered and the threat never forgotten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I really hope that worked.


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good to have my laptop back up and running again. Hopefully it will be cooperative from now on.   
> Thanks for the lovely feedback! It's always good to hear that people are enjoying the story. I think you deserve to find out what happened when we abandoned Lydia 2 chapters ago.

It was Nigel who came through the door this time. Lydia refrained from making any decisive actions when she saw that he carried two plates of food with him. Surely they wouldn’t feed them both if they were just going to kill them.

 “Well,” He got straight to the point, “We’ve managed to track down most of your hints, none of which have led to the spike. I recall promising that we wouldn’t be giving you any more warnings if you disappointed us.”

Lydia tensed as he watched her with an unpleasant smile on his face.

“That said, your information did lead to several other pieces of skeleton dated to the same timeframe as these bones,” He gestured at the lengths that were fractured now after her attacks on the walls overnight. “We discussed in great depth whether to give you one more chance without demonstrating our commitment to this. Polly fears you may not be taking our threats seriously. I convinced her that giving you one more chance may be more productive.

“I think you can agree that we have been very patient and understanding of the limitations of your power. The fact that you can pinpoint the rest of this skeleton speaks to your ability to track down the spike. So track it down.” He turned back to the door, “You will have something more substantial to offer us by lunch time. No more warnings. Answers, or blood.”

Lydia almost sagged in relief at his words. She’d gained them half a day. Half a day to figure out the next move, though she’d had a whole night and hadn’t been able to think of anything. Half a day to work out what this thing was and just how bad it would be if she handed it over to them.

Half a day for Stiles to find them.

“Wait,” She called as Nigel turned back to the door, “Maybe if you could tell me more about this spike then I could figure out what to focus on. What’s so special about it? Why are you looking for it?”

She dropped a tinge of fear and desperation into her tone.

He frowned at her indecisively for a moment before nodding slowly.

“The spike was forged by gods whose names have been forgotten for an age. They were siblings, one bound to the animal spirit of shape-shifters, the other to humans. They worked together to make a device that would enact the will of one against the other. Should a human bond with the spike they would have total control over all people carrying the spirit of an animal. Should a were-creature bond with the spike, however, they would have dominion over all humans.” He explained.

“Each god was devious in their own way and tried to alter the device to make it more effective for their subjects then for their sibling’s. The device would only force obedience on those who heard the order given, which gave any human an advantage as the heightened hearing of werewolves would increase the distance their control reached. However, while the spike was designed to enter the flesh easily and without hindering the wielder in any way, the serrations along the edge were angled in such a way that removing the device would tear open the flesh ensuring that any human would quickly bleed out; while those with advanced healing abilities would survive the extraction.”

“As for why we’re looking for it…” He sneered at her, “I don’t believe that’s necessary information. Suffice to say that never again will our survival depend on the mercy of ruthless werewolves.”

With that he turned back to the door, stepping through and closing it behind him.

Lydia did sag to the floor in relief after he left. She stared at the closed door, pondering her options and the possibilities that this new information brought to light. They weren’t very promising.

She’d gained them time, which had been her goal, but not very much. And now, she knew, she had run out of ways to delay them. If she didn’t give them what they wanted then they would kill Teresa, and if she did then they would use this spike to enslave untold numbers of werewolves, kill others, and probably leave the two of them in this silent box to starve anyway.

She trusted Stiles to find her, she did. But she knew that she hadn’t given him much to go on. Nothing that she’d managed to tell him would lead him to this spike and she still didn’t know what the piano music and clattering sound that still echoed quietly behind everything else meant. Hunting for missing people took time. Time that they might not have.

She glanced at the specially sound-proofed walls around her. If only she could find a way to get a message outside of these walls. No sound got through them, but that didn’t stop her from hearing the world. Perhaps there was someone outside who could hear _her_ through them as well.

“Teresa,” She said, “You’re going to need to block your ears again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to make sense now, I hope! But there is still quite a bit left to come. Thanks for reading! It's gotten to the point where I just want you all to know the whole story but it's not yet at a point where I could just upload everything at once. Rest assured, I am as impatient to bring you the story as you are to read it.


	13. Chapter 12

Stiles remained silent for a moment after Aras completed his story. He’d been so caught up in the narrative that he’d actually fallen completely still as he sat listening.

“Wow,” He whispered, “That’s… definitely it. Maria said ‘it takes their will, it makes them bow.’ This has to be it.”

“How likely do you think it is that this could be real, Aras?” Jasmine asked him seriously, “What are the chances that someone might actually find this thing and how bad would it be if they did?”

“Well,” Aras considered ponderously, “I hadn’t ever considered the possibility that this might happen in our lifetime, but I am convinced that there is truth to the story. I still wouldn’t put anyone’s chances of finding the barb all that high, but I suppose that, regardless of how unlikely it is, the repercussions should they succeed would be astronomical. Worse than any other threat we’ve faced.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jasmine agreed, “This just went above our paygrade. I’m going to have to call in the boss.”

“The boss?” Stiles asked in surprise, “Like the _boss_ boss?”

Jasmine ignored him as she made her way across the room, opening the decorative door and moving into the hallway beyond.

“Like the _alpha_ boss?” Stiles asked Aras.

“Of course,” He replied, “Our alpha would find this very concerning.”

“Right,” Stiles nodded, “Because this is freaking terrifying. An object that can give someone total control over the people around them, making werewolves the slaves of humans or humans the slaves of werewolves. And all we know is that it can be found by a banshee, but not by sight or smell or story. Which... what does that even mean, can’t be found by _story_?”

“Well, it’s a very interesting part of the narrative,” Aras jumped excitedly on the topic. “My predecessors all had great interest in this account and several theories have developed over the years. We’ve mostly agreed that the statement that the location of the holy ground cannot be passed along by story is not an inherent characteristic of the place – as being hidden from sight and smell seems to be – but rather a reminder to the teller not to include any information in their recounting that might lead to the spot.”

“Oh, okay. I guess that works.” Stiles replied, “What other theories have you come up with? What about the voice thing? It mentioned that her orders had to be heard?”

“Yes,” Aras nodded, “It seems clear that there is some audible aspect to the commands. However, it also seems that the control does not fade when out of earshot, for the tyrant retained control over werewolves whom she left behind when she moved on from an area. Our best guess is that the last order heard remains until another order supersedes it, or until the person who gave the order dies.”

“So what, deaf people are safe?” Stiles asked, “We’ll be fine if we just wear earplugs? What about TV or radio? What about YouTube? Could someone take over the world through the internet?”

“Hmm,” Aras pondered that suggestion with interest, “I hadn’t considered the ramifications of long distance audio transmission. I suppose we have no way of knowing what the limitations would be in conjunction with modern technology without undertaking a number of tests with the device to determine that.”

“I’d rather not find out.” Noshiko told him.

“Right,” Aras agreed quickly, “Hypothetically, it would take many tests.”

“Have you ever heard of anything like this?” Stiles asked Noshiko in interest.

“No,” She replied, “Like them, I was under the impression that external mind control was both difficult to achieve and impossible to maintain. I’ve never heard of a device like this.”

“Any chance you heard about a secret war written out of the history of America?” He asked hopefully.

“No, Stiles,” She shook her head, “I was nowhere near this continent at the time these things would have been happening.”

Aras spun towards her in interest at this statement and launched into an interrogation of the Kitsune. By the time the door to the library opened again Aras was deep into a, mostly one sided, conversation about feudal Japan. Stiles was pacing around one of the tables, muttering to himself about the details that had been revealed in the story. He had been excited when he first heard the story, certain that it was a vital piece of the puzzle, but now he was realising that it didn’t help as much as he’d hoped. Such a powerful artefact would attract almost anyone who heard about it so the list of potential suspects was just as broad and undefined as before. And the story specifically refrained from giving any information that could lead to the barb, so finding it first was going to be a challenge. Even with so many new answers there still wasn’t a clear way forward.

He stopped pacing when Jasmine entered the room, followed by two men. One was large and intimidating, but the other, though older and more compact, exuded the kind of power that you _really_ didn’t want to mess with. This had to be the alpha.

“Sir, this is Stiles and Noshiko,” Jasmine undertook introductions again, “As I told you, they are friends with one of the missing banshees and they brought the situation to our attention. Stiles, Noshiko, this is Jasper Arowatt, alpha of the Arowatt Pack; and his associate Leroy.”

Stiles didn’t know why Jasmine bothered with the euphemism ‘associate’; he was the most obvious bodyguard Stiles had ever seen. They certainly weren’t fooling anyone as to his purpose here.

“Stiles, since we’re all familiar with the story of the bronze barb and the threat that it poses, why don’t you take us through what you know about all of this?” Jasmine suggested.

Trying to ignore how surreal it felt to have one of the most powerful werewolves in the world looking at him for information, Stiles leapt into his story. He recounted the phone call he’d received just the night before last, the clues that Lydia had given him which had led him to Teresa Alvarez and her great-great-aunt, the disconnected mutterings that he’d gotten from Maria, and the allies who had led him to the Arowatt pack.

When he finished his account they turned the discussion towards the object itself and the threat it might pose. They talked themselves around in circles as they pondered not only how to find the kidnappers or the barb, but what should happen to the barb once it was uncovered. Stiles got progressively more frustrated as Arowatt and Noshiko repeatedly drew the conversation back around to what should be done with the barb once it was found, each feeling the need to express their distrust of the other.

Aras would sporadically interrupt whatever conversation was taking place to voice some new theory or extrapolate on the information Stiles had provided. Jasmine, on the other hand, was coming up with fall back plans for worst case scenarios.

Meanwhile, every time that Stiles made a suggestion for how to actually find Lydia or this barb thing he was shot down pretty quickly. When he mentioned that he had a shirt of Lydia’s for tracking her by scent he was informed that scent tracking was generally a useless endeavour in a city this size. When he suggested that they at least google the story and see if they could find any chatter from other people looking for it the Arowatt wolves all got very protective of the story, insisting that even simply typing the question into a search engine would go against hundreds of years of tradition dictating that nothing relating to the story be written down.

Leroy was stoically silent throughout, his watchful gaze taking everything in but not letting any response show.

“Seriously?” Stiles yelled in exasperation as the talk once again turned to what could or should happen if the barb was uncovered. “We don’t even know where to start looking for this thing, or for Lydia and Teresa, or for the people who took them! And you’re already arguing over who gets to keep it? Can’t we focus on the more important problem? What if we ask people who know what’s going on around the city? Maybe someone has seen someone new to town or heard about people looking for some long lost artefact.”

Jasmine shook her head disparagingly at him, “You really have no idea how things work in a city this size, do you? There are so many new people arriving every day that we’d need something a whole lot more useful then _piano music_ to even know where to start.”

“But we’d be doing something!” Stiles exclaimed, “And if we got more people on it then we could start in more places and maybe we could even come up with some kind of short list. I don’t know how many people you guys can summon with a single text message but I’ve got a good half dozen people ready to jump on planes if I ask for help. Some of them are scattered kind of a long way away, but a few could be here in a matter of hours.”

“Are you really worth that kind of loyalty?” Jasmine asked him with a vicious tone, her own impatience colouring her response.

“Yes,” He answered defensively, and then paused to consider the question, “Well, no. But Scott is. They’ll come because I’m part of their pack; because they know that Scott would do it for them.”

“You said you’re part of ‘their pack’, I thought your pack was in San Francisco.” Aras queried.

“Well, my alpha is in San Francisco, and some of his betas are in California, but a lot of them scattered.”

“That’s not really how it works, Stiles,” Arowatt told him, “Once a beta is separated from his alpha by enough time and distance the bond weakens until neither gains power from it anymore.”

“Really?” Stiles frowned, “Huh, well, Scott sort of fell into alphaing accidentally so we pretty much just made up whatever rules seemed to work for us. And letting people go wherever and whenever they want to go hasn’t seemed to cause any issues. Granted, I don’t pretend to understand the whole mystical pack bond thing. I mostly just think that these people are my friends and we’ve had each other’s backs for so long that none of the official rules really matter.”

“That should make your alpha incredibly weak,” Arowatt informed him. “It’s highly irregular to see an alpha-beta bond survive such distances. There are stories that suggest a true alpha can forge pack bonds stronger than usual but other than that it shouldn’t be possible.”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles nodded, “That’ll be it then. Scott’s a true alpha.”

Silence followed his proclamation, interrupted by Jasmine snorting.

“You clearly have no idea what that means,” She accused, “It’s not something you can just claim because it sounds cool.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “A true alpha is one who gets his power by being such a badass leader that he earns it himself instead of getting it from the death of another alpha. I was there when it happened.”

“A true alpha,” Aras said in awe, “Do you know how rare that is?”

“Not really,” Stiles shrugged, “People say ‘wow, that’s rare’ a lot, but it doesn’t really mean anything without some kind of context. It just is. We’re all kind of used to it.”

“In the last century there has only been one sufficiently recorded case of a true alpha across the entire world,” Arowatt told him seriously.

“There are a few other vague accounts that can’t be substantiated,” Aras agreed, “But only one that we are certain of.”

“Okay, yeah… That’s rare.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably.

“I would be fascinated to talk to him.” Aras told him, “Do you know much about his transition?”

“Umm…” Stiles glanced awkwardly at the others, “Can we maybe focus back on the topic here?”

“Actually,” Jasmine glanced at her watch, “You should call your alpha, Stiles. It’s coming up on your three hour check in.”

“Right!” Stiles said, pulling out his phone, “Totally slipped my mind. I’ll do that now.”

“That won’t work in here,” Aras informed him, “Some of the objects in our collection are sensitive to electromagnetic frequencies so the entire room acts as a faraday cage.”

“What, really?” Stiles stared at the ‘no signal’ icon, impressed, “That’s so cool!”

Aras gave him an indulgent look, “Yes, it’s quite impressive. The balcony outside the back room has signal. I’ll take you through.”

Aras lead Stiles through one of the doors on the far side of the room which led into some sort of work space lined with large cupboards and drawers. Unlike the main room, this had tables that were actually empty of books. Aras continued through without pause, opening a door on the side of the room. He ushered Stiles into a small entryway, closing the door firmly behind him before opening the next door which led onto the balcony.

Stiles stepped outside, glancing back as Aras followed him.

“You know, it really would be fascinating to talk to your alpha,” Aras told him, “Even if it’s just for a moment. There’s so many things that the records don’t tell us. What was it like to watch him transition?”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles answered off hand as he stared at his phone, which had suddenly lit up with several missed calls the moment that he got outside, “Super confusing, stuck in amongst other more confusing and more life threatening events.”

He dialled into his voicemail while Aras started rambling about something in the background. _Three new messages_.

” _Stiles!_ ” Scott’s voice gave away his anxiety, “ _Abigail reported Lydia missing so the police might start getting in your way soon. Since you haven’t exactly been subtle about searching for her I wouldn’t be surprised if they want to talk to you personally. I know you’ve still got a couple of hours before you have to check in but I really hope you call me back soon. This sitting around not knowing what’s happening is going to give me a heart attack._ ”

Stiles quickly pressed the button for the next message, which immediately proved Scott’s prediction right.

“ _Hi Stiles, this is Detective Yeung from the NYPD. I’d like to talk to you when you get the chance about your friend Lydia Martin. Please call me back as soon as possible._ ”

Stiles ignored the phone number that the detective rattled off, saving the message instead in case he needed the number later. The last message was only seven minutes old.

“ _Hi Stiles, this is Carol from the Atlantic Rest Long Term Care Facility. You asked me to call you if Maria said anything and… well she’s calling for you. Screaming really. None of the usual techniques are calming her down and we really don’t want to have to sedate her because it doesn’t mix well with her other meds. It’s definitely not standard practice, but maybe if you could call back and talk to her over the phone she would be satisfied and would settle down. Please call if you get a chance. Thanks.”_

Stiles fumbled with his phone in his haste to hit the redial button. When an unfamiliar voice answered he asked for Carol and was redirected to the upstairs line.

“Hello?” Carol’s exhausted voice came through his phone.

“Carol, it’s Stiles.” He announced, “Is it too late to talk to Maria?”

“Oh, thank god.” The relief in Carol’s voice answered his question, “I’ll just transfer you to the line in her room.”

The sound cut off for a moment and then the line began ringing again. Stiles waited impatiently as it continued ringing.

“Hi, Stiles,” Carol’s voice came back, sounds of crying and yelling in the background now, “Just hold on a moment while I get Maria.”

She disappeared again, but this time Stile could hear the crying sounds cut off as indistinct conversation took its place. After a moment the phone was picked up again.

“Stiles,” Maria’s frantic voice came onto the line, “You have to find her, Stiles. You have to save her. She’s running out of time. She can’t delay them much longer. They’re going to kill Teresa. My sweet Teresa.”

Maria broke down in sobs.

“Hey, it’s okay Maria,” Stiles put his most reassuring voice on, one he’d perfected in the later parts of his mother’s illness, “It’s going to be okay. Just tell me what you heard.”

“She’s somewhere dark, confined,” Maria spoke quickly, barely stopping for breath, “Her voice can’t touch the walls. She tried, she tried. They’ve blocked the sound. She focussed as small as she could but not a single crack. She can hear it. They want it. They’ll use it to destroy so much. So many lives if she tells them. One life if she doesn’t. Time is running out. They block the sound but she can hear. What she hears isn’t sound. Maybe what she screams isn’t sound. Maybe if she screams loud enough, big enough, someone will hear her. She screams, she screams. ‘Come find me, Stiles, come find me. Please hear me.’”

Maria stopped talking abruptly, taking big gasping breaths.

“You did great, Maria,” Stiles assured her, “You heard the scream and you passed along her message. I’ll find her. I promise. I’ll find them both in time.”

“I know,” Maria was calming now. “She knows. You always figure it out. You’ll find them.”

“Right,” Stiles forced positivity into his voice as her words settled like lead into his stomach. “I’ll find them. I’ll just go do that now.”

“Good.” Maria sounded exhausted but relieved. “Good. You’ll find them.”

Stiles held the silent phone up to his ear for several moments after she’d hung up on him. He didn’t feel any of the confidence Maria did. He felt like he was running in circles, completely lost. He knew so much more than when he’d gotten up that morning, but none of it brought him any closer to Lydia. How could she have such faith in him? Lydia knew better than anyone how close they’d come to failure in the past, and he’d had her to help him then. Together they could solve any mystery, but on his own he wasn’t so sure.

He slowly lowered his phone, staring obliviously out across the road.          

“Stiles,” Aras’ voice was uncommonly serious and the change from his usual tone of academic enthusiasm had Stiles turning to look at him, “I think there’s something I have to show you.”

Shrouded in despair and doubt, Stiles followed Aras back into the building. Aras stepped over to one of the larger cabinets and opened the door to reveal an impressive looking safe. Stiles found himself glancing at the number of identical, unassuming doors around the room and wondering what they might be hiding.

Aras pulled a small wooden chest from the lowest shelf of the safe. He closed everything up again and led Stiles back through to the main room.

The others were right where they’d left them mere minutes ago, still arguing about who had the right to the bronze barb when it was found and what sort of security would be safe enough.

Stiles stifled a groan of frustration at their continued talk. They didn’t have a single suggestion for how to find the thing but they were already working out what to do with it when they did.

Aras shoved some books to the side on a nearby table and set the chest down.

“About 90 years ago,” Aras spoke to Stiles. The others fell silent and turned to listen. “A powerful seer came to visit this pack. He was renowned for seeing the future more clearly than any seer throughout recorded history. His advice was taken so seriously by those who knew of him that they would write down every word. He saw the future even better than he saw the present. This was actually a problem a few years later when he died attempting to cross a bridge that hadn’t been built yet.”

Aras opened the box and retrieved the only item inside, a piece of paper covered in messy, indecipherable writing.

“This seer came looking for the pack historian of the time, a man named James Thompson. He gave him this box and a few instructions which James recorded in detail.” Aras scanned through the page he was holding before turning it over to read the back, “James was so concerned about missing a vital detail that he included not only the date and time of the visit, but also the humidity, barometric pressure, and two paragraphs on the seer’s appearance. Ah, here it is.

“‘He handed me the box’” Aras read out loud, “‘and said, “You must take this and hold on to it. Thousands of lives depend on it. It belonged to a child who believed in peace and died at the hands of those they sought to liberate. You and your successors must protect this as you would your most precious possessions until the scream is heard.” I asked what he meant by the scream, and which lives were at risk, but he refused to answer. At my continued questioning he gave the following response: “Those are all the words necessary to get this box where it is needed. Any more may lead it astray. Follow those instructions and the rest will fall into place.” Though he accepted our hospitality and stayed with us for three more days he refused to speak another word.’”

Aras looked up at Stiles as he finished reading.

“Why did you bring this up, Aras?” asked Arowatt with a frown.

“Stiles just got a call,” Aras explained to the others before turning back to Stiles, “You said ‘you heard the scream.’ Do you think it could be the scream mentioned here?”

“Yeah,” Stiles felt a grin spread across his face, hope sparking inside him again. “Yeah, I know exactly what to do now. Bring the box and those hand bones you mentioned. It’s time for a field trip.”


	14. Chapter 13

It hadn’t been easy to convince those who weren’t accustomed to Stiles’ tendency to dive headlong into a theory to follow his instruction. They wanted to sit and talk about what it all meant and what they should do next. With a great deal of flailing and the promise to explain on the way Stiles managed to get them out of the building, and, with the compromise that he and Noshiko wouldn’t drive together so that the wolves couldn’t be left behind, he got them on the road to Staten Island.

He found himself in Jasmine’s car with Aras, talking on speakerphone to Noshiko, who was driving Arowatt and Leroy.

“We know that a banshee can find this place,” He was saying, “But banshee power isn’t really convenient or reliable. It’s not like they can just think of something and know the answer. They need something to focus on. Something like the bones of the last person to use the barb and a box belonging to one of the children buried with it.”

“But your banshee friend can’t help us while she’s kidnapped.” Leroy pointed out, speaking for the first time since Stiles had met him.

“That’s not entirely true. She managed to communicate with another banshee, who managed to get the message to me. That was the scream from the seer’s instructions. Lydia screamed and Maria heard it. She said that they’re running out of time. Lydia knows where the barb is, but she’s been delaying her kidnappers, keeping them from finding it. But if she doesn’t give it to them soon then they’re going to kill Teresa. So we need to move faster. If we can find the barb first, then we can wait for the kidnappers to get there and they’ll lead us back to wherever they’re holding Lydia and Teresa.”

“So we’re putting our faith in a woman whom _you_ described as being disconnected from reality?” Jasmine asked doubtfully.

“Out of touch with _our_ reality,” Stiles defended, “But we need her to listen to stuff _outside_ our reality so it’ll be fine.”

Stiles’ phone suddenly started buzzing with an incoming call.

“Oh, shit,” He swore at the sight of Scott’s name on his screen, “I forgot to call Scott. I’ve got to hang up.”

Without giving anyone a chance to respond he cut off the call and swiped to answer Scott.

“Hey, sorry,” Stiles spoke immediately, “I’m fine. Sorry I missed the check in. We’ve got a serious lead here and I got distracted.”

“Seriously, dude?” Scott’s exasperation failed to mask his relief, “I thought you’d been eaten by mafia wolves. I was two minutes away from calling in all of the cavalry I could think of.”

“I know,” Stiles apologised, “Totally my bad. But I really think that we’re onto something. We’re on our way to go see Maria again and show her some bones and a box and then we’ll find the barb which will lead us straight to the kidnappers.”

“What did that even mean?” Scott spluttered at this confusing statement, “You’re going to ask a crazy banshee about a box of bones? Do you really think she’ll be able to tell you anything? Or that you’ll be able to figure out what it means if she does? Don’t you remember how hard it was to decipher Meredith’s messages?”

Stiles was uncomfortably aware that the werewolves in the car could hear every word of doubt Scott was throwing at him.

“Yeah, Scott,” Stiles agreed, “It might not be easy. But it’s what we have to work with. And Maria’s not crazy. She’s just not great at focussing on what’s going on in front of her. She can hear what we need her to hear. I know it. She already heard Lydia and passed along a message. She can do this. And, however twisted or confused she gets trying to explain it, I will figure out what she’s trying to tell me. Because, yeah, Meredith was hard to understand sometimes, but we always figured it out eventually.”

“Not always fast enough, though,” Scott pointed out warily, “What message did she get from Lydia?”

Stiles hesitated before admitting, “Lydia’s running out of time. Specifically, Teresa’s running out of time. If Lydia doesn’t give them what they want soon then they’ll kill Teresa.”

“Okay, I’m going to catch the next flight.” Scott decided, “I don’t care if it makes the local pack uncomfortable. You need back up and I’m not okay being this far away from it all.”

“No, Scott,” Stiles said quickly, “I’ve got all the backup that I can handle. The alpha himself is coming along for this, along with his personal bodyguard, his top historian, and his… um… marketing person?” Stiles looked sideways at Jasmine who scowled at the road in response.

“This thing that we’re looking for could be used to mind control werewolves so if you come here you could make it even worse.” Stiles finished.

“You’re already surrounded by werewolves!” Scott exclaimed, “I’m definitely catching the next flight.”

“No!” Stiles insisted, “Please remember that if you stabbed me through the stomach with a shadow demon’s sword then I wouldn’t survive to forgive you for it? I’ve got this Scott, really. Besides, I really believe that everything is going to happen pretty quickly from this point. Faster than you could get here. Remember that optimism you promised to hold onto? I’d feel better about having you just a phone call away rather than stuck in a plane, out of contact, for five hours while all this is going down.”

Scott sighed. “Fine, I won’t take the next flight. But I make no promises about the one after that. And if you miss a check in again then you won’t get a chance to argue about it. I’m only giving you two hours this time. You don’t call within two hours and I’m getting on a plane.”

“Okay,” Stiles said in relief, “That’s fair. I’ll definitely call you in two hours. As soon as we hang up I’ll put a reminder on my phone so I can’t miss one again.”

“Good.” Scott growled, “And call when you have an update too. If you want me to be reachable then you’d better keep me in the loop. I need to be able to help with this too.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded despite the fact that Scott couldn’t see him. “I promise. I’ll talk to you soon.”

After he hung up and programmed an alarm into his phone for two hours from now he turned towards the window, hoping that the others would refrain from commenting on his call.

He could imagine what might happen if Scott came here. He’d heard the story of the barb and it sounded way too familiar to him. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone and the idea of going through it again himself terrified him. They didn’t know yet whether the kidnappers were human or something else, but either way he wanted to minimise the number of people that he cared about in their vicinity in case they succeeded.

That was the real reason why he didn’t want Scott or the others who had offered coming here. He knew where this was heading. He didn’t need to be able to hear death coming to know that this was about to get very messy very soon. He desperately wanted the support of knowing that Scott was at his back, but he felt a different kind of comfort from having these strangers at his back instead. He knew that the five people here wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to stop him from hurting people if someone else took control of him. Scott, on the other hand, would always prioritise saving Stiles, which could mean more people would get hurt.

And, if the kidnappers were human and they took control of these werewolves then Stiles wouldn’t be nearly as hesitant to use whatever force it took to stop them as well. It was better this way. Safer in the long run not to feel the need to protect the people who would be going into this beside him.

But he had doubts. He knew that he and Scott had always been a team in these things. What if he couldn’t find Lydia on his own? What if he couldn’t find her in time?

“It’s not a bad plan, Stiles,” Jasmine broke through his reverie, “And, despite our trust issues, we’re on the same side. We’ll have your back as long as we both want the same things. So if this plan doesn’t work then we’ll come up with another one.”

Stiles glanced at her in surprise, “I thought you hated me,” He confessed.

“I don’t like your sarcasm and inability to sit still. That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the lengths you’ll go to protecting your friends. We’re the same that way,” Her words seemed almost a response to his unspoken thoughts, “Pack is what matters. The rest of the world can burn if the people we love are safe.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, “Except that the people I love would never forgive me if I let that happen, so I guess we’ll just have to save the world too.”

Jasmine smiled, “Well, since it’s not out of our way.”


	15. Chapter 14

They arrived at Maria’s rest home in record time and Stiles quickly convinced the others that fewer visitors would be better. He found himself signing in with only Jasmine by his side while the others waited in the carpark.

Stiles stopped briefly at the nurses’ station on the second floor to talk to Carol, who confirmed that Maria was doing much better after his call but was still very agitated. Carol waved them on to Maria’s room.

“Maria?” Stiles called to her as they pushed through the door, “It’s Stiles. Can I talk to you?”

Maria turned to them at the sound of his voice, but didn’t respond or show any signs of recognition. There were tears in her eyes and her head suddenly turned in different directions as if something they couldn’t see or hear was drawing her attention.

“This is Jasmine.” Stiles told her, “She’s helping me to find Teresa.”

Maria still didn’t respond. Stiles stepped closer.

“Maria, I need your help,” he spoke softly but urgently, “I need your help to find Lydia and Teresa. Please.”

Maria started humming slightly, still turning her head vaguely to either side.

Stiles reached into the bag they’d carried with them and brought out the wooden box and laid it on the table next to her. Her eyes immediately locked on the object like it was fascinating. Her humming grew louder. Behind Stiles, Jasmine pulled out the notebook that she’d taken from Stiles earlier that day and began making note of Maria’s response.

“Do you know what this is, Maria?” Stiles asked, “Can you hear where the person who owned it is now?”

“Dead,” She whispered, entranced by the box, “She made it herself, with her daddy’s help. He showed her how to shape the wood, how to smooth the edges, how to fit the latch. His hands guiding hers. They poured the future into it. A lifetime of making things, making them together, a lifetime of filling the box with things of value. A box for treasures and dreams and hope. She sold the treasures and she lost the dreams and she abandoned the box. But she kept the hope. Always the hope. As she breathed her last, his hands tearing hers, she kept the hope.”

Tears were seeping from Maria’s eyes now. She reached out to touch the box, drawing in a shuddering breath as she began weeping in earnest.

“Do you know where she is?” Stiles asked, “Can you tell us where to find her?”

“Gone now, all gone,” Teresa cried, “All lost, even hope. She’s gone, gone, gone. Never coming back. And my Teresa’s going to join her.”

Jasmine raised an eyebrow but remained silent, leaving it to Stiles to coerce answers from Maria. He tried again but she just kept crying that the child was lost, dead, gone.

Stiles sighed and reached into the bag again. He pulled out a bundle of thick red fabric, unrolling it onto the table beside the box to reveal a cluster of small bones. Maria drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them, drawing back from the table.

“Maria,” Stiles drew her attention, “What about the bones? Can you tell me about them?”

“Such darkness,” Teresa’s voice trembled from something other than grief this time, “Such craving for power. They held power once. They want it back. They want control. They call out for more. More power, more wealth, more time, more blood. They felt the squelch of blood saturating the ground. They want to feel that again.”

“Can you hear where the power they’re calling to is?” Stiles asked, his voice edging into agitation as he felt them getting closer to answers.

Maria shook her head, “No, no. Don’t look. Don’t look. They all die, they all will die, all have died. The world has burned and mourned and rebuilt but scars never truly fade. Their cries of anguish echo still. Don’t look at her. She kills anyone who tries.”

Stiles hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should continue trying to draw an answer from the bones, and whether it would be a bad idea to keep pushing when a banshee had said ‘Don’t look’, but he knew this was the only way to Lydia, so he reached over and did what he’d expected to have to do from the beginning.

He opened the wooden chest, picked up the cloth bundle, and tipped the bones from the cloth into the box. He set aside the scrap of fabric, closed the lid of the box and picked it up in both hands. Keeping his eyes fixed on Maria, he gave the box a gentle shake.

The bones rattled feebly inside the box, but Maria’s response to the unremarkable sound was immediate.

“Forty-one, fourteen, fifty-nine point four, seventy-four, five, twenty-three point nine,” Maria rattled off quickly before starting to hum again.

“Can’t be seen and can’t be smelt and open eyes it can’t be felt,” Maria began singing, “Down is there for fingers and toes but use your eyes and the stairway goes.”

She hummed again briefly and then picked up the song from the beginning.

Jasmine sighed, looking up from her notes, “I guess a sane banshee would be a lot better.”

Stiles laughed, turning to her.

“Are you kidding?” He asked with a relieved smile, “That was actually one of the most straightforward answers I’ve ever gotten from a banshee. Here,” he reached out and took the notebook and pen from her. He added a few small scratches to the page and turned it back to her. She leaned forward to see the symbols he’d added to her notes and looked back up at him.

“They’re coordinates,” She smiled.

Stiles nodded and turned back to Maria, who was still singing.

“Maria, thank you. We can find them now. We can save Lydia and Teresa. Can you still hear them?” He asked.

Maria nodded, dropping from singing back to humming.

“Can they hear you?” Stiles asked her, “Could you get a message to Lydia? Can she understand you?”

“Better than you!” Maria burst out laughing, “You get so distracted by the words. Words complicate things. Language confuses things. Tongues and vocal chords and breath dilute meaning. We don’t need it. You should listen better.”

“Can you tell her that she can give them what they want now?” Stiles asked. “She can tell them where to find it. We’ll make sure they don’t hurt anyone else with it, so she just has to worry about protecting Teresa by telling them the truth.”

Maria nodded vaguely, returning to her humming.

“Is that...” Stiles leaned towards her, “Did you tell her already?”

Maria simply nodded again, still humming.

Stiles hesitated, watching her.

“Ooookay,” Stiles shoved the box and the bones back into the bag and stepped back, looking at Jasmine, “Well, I guess we’ll have to take her word on that. Hopefully Lydia will get the message, if not, we might have to wait a while for the kidnappers to show up.”

Jasmine looked back at the humming woman and nodded, agreeing that they weren’t going to get a better answer from her.

“Agreed,” She said, “If they don’t show up on their own then we can find another way to draw them out. Now that we know where to find the barb we’ve got control of the situation.”

They headed out the door and down the hallway. Stiles nodded at Carol on the way past. As they started down the stairs he turned back to Jasmine.

“What were those coordinates again?” He asked.

Jasmine slowed to look back at the notebook.

“41°, 14 minutes north, 74°, 5 minutes west.” She read.

Stiles nodded. Two steps later he looked back at her sheepishly.

“I didn’t actually pay attention to the answer, what was it again?” He asked.

Jasmine rolled her eyes at him and opened her mouth to respond and then frowned and looked back at the notebook. She read out the coordinates again.

“Got it.” Stiles nodded again.

They made their way outside, pushing through the front doors. Stiles paused on the front step, frowning.

“Can I see that notebook?” He held out his hand.

Jasmine handed it to him and watched as he scowled at the notes, muttering the coordinates to himself. Then he closed his eyes for a moment before looking at her, an intrigued look on his face.

“Can you remember the coordinates? He asked.

Jasmine started to nod, knowing that she had just read them twice, but stopped as she realised that she couldn’t remember a single number.

“No.” She frowned in confusion.

Stiles shook his head, “Me neither. It disappears as soon as I’m not looking at it. I guess we know what it meant about not being passed along by story. This place literally can’t be remembered.”

Jasmine looked impressed, “Well, that would make it an excellent hiding place, and it would explain the insistence that nothing about the story be written down.”

They moved down the steps again, heading towards the small group waiting by the cars.

“Did you find it?” Aras asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded at him, “We’ve got the place. We’ve also answered one of the mysteries of your story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have no idea where these coordinates actually lead. I do think they're at least within the state of New York, but my research consisted entirely of clicking on a random green space near New York in Google Maps.


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like we're hurtling towards the end now and I'm not sure how I feel about that. The idea of this being completely and totally done is weird and surreal. Probably less so for you since you just want to know what's going to happen.  
> I always knew what was going to happen. It's how we'd get there I wasn't so certain about.
> 
> WARNING: Cliffhanger ahead. You may want to wait to read this until the next chapter is up if you don't like hanging in suspense.

The coordinates turned out to lead over an hour’s drive north of the city; a large green splotch on the edge of suburbia. They got underway after putting the coordinates into GPS to save them the trouble of having to check where they were going over and over as they forgot repeatedly.

As they drove, Stiles called Scott to update him on the situation, letting him know that they were one step closer to Lydia. Scott’s relief was palpable at the knowledge that things really were wrapping up faster than he could have gotten there if he’d left when he’d threatened.

When Aras interrupted their conversation to ask Scott questions about his perspective of becoming a true alpha Stiles made an excuse to hang up and put an end to that conversation.

It was a long drive after that. Jasmine may have given him grudging respect and a smidgeon of trust, but she still wasn’t exactly friendly. Aras, on the other hand was overly friendly, excitedly rambling about whatever topic sprang into his mind.

When they stopped to regroup and compare routes as they got nearer to their goal Stiles seriously considered swapping cars. But then he saw Leroy and Arowatt again and remembered that, even though either of them could still kill him in an instant, at least Jasmine and Aras weren’t terrifying.

They took several minutes to inspect the maps of the area and work out which direction would be best to approach it from and they were underway again. Their drive took them out of civilisation and up a steep slope into a forested area. As signs of humanity started to fade Stiles pulled out his phone again to call Scott and warn him that they might be heading out of cell phone range.

“You still only get two hours,” Scott told him seriously, “So you’d better walk fast.”

Stiles agreed reluctantly, hoping that it wouldn’t be far on foot, and that there would still be signal up there.

They reached the end of the gravel road they’d found themselves on and pulled to a stop in a small carpark catering to the hikers who frequented the area. There were several trails that came past this spot and there were two other cars already there. Stiles’ car had arrived first and they piled out to wait for the others. Jasmine took a few minutes to change from her marketing appropriate, expensive looking shoes into a pair of sneakers she had in the trunk of her car.

Stiles spent the time zooming in and out of the map on his phone, comparing it to a map of hiking trails that went past the carpark, trying to get his bearings. The GPS on his phone looked like they had to walk several hundred metres north, which looked to be mostly up hill. There was a hiking trail marked on the map that looked like it would get close to the spot they were after, but they would have to veer off at some point. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to go off road when they got there.

Noshiko’s car arrived and they set about getting underway. With two GPS connected cellphones and one of the GPS units from the car to guide them they set off up the trail.

It was about 20 minutes later, a few extra for Stiles who found the steep gradient a challenge without the super-stamina of a werewolf, that they agreed it was time to step off of the marked path. The forest they’d found themselves in was not dense, so finding a path between the trees that took them in the right direction wasn’t hard, but the damp, slippery leaf litter slowed their pace.

They found themselves heading across the side of the hill they’d been climbing, not gaining a lot more altitude than what they’d already ascended and as they approached the place that all three devices agreed was 41°14’59.4” north and 74°5’23.9” west, the ground ahead of them flattened out and the trees dispersed until they found themselves in a small, unremarkable clearing.

They made their way across the clearing, stopping when they discovered that two of the three GPS devices agreed that the spot was now behind them. Aras suggested they split up to search around the area, but after several minutes of fruitless searching they came back together to regroup.

“I don’t think we can find it by looking,” Stiles told the others as they stood in a circle in the middle of the clearing, “Maria sang this song after she recited the coordinates. How did it go? ‘Can’t be seen and can’t be smelt and open eyes it can’t be felt’?” He turned to Jasmine for confirmation.

She nodded, pulling out the notebook again and referring to her notes.

“‘Down is there for fingers and toes,’” She recounted, “‘But use your eyes and the stairway goes.’ So we have to somehow feel our way around without opening our eyes.”

“Okay,” Noshiko nodded and moved to one side of the clearing, “Come over here. We’ll form a line across the clearing. Right hand in front of you to feel anything that you might walk into, left hand on the shoulder of the person beside you. We make our way, eyes closed, step by step across the clearing. If we get to the other side without finding anything we move west and try again.”

Everyone agreed quickly to this logical approach and fell into line. Stiles found himself towards the right end, Noshiko on his left, Aras at the end on his right.

“Eyes closed,” Noshiko called.

Stiles closed his eyes, shifting his feet slightly to get used to the feel of the ground beneath them.

“One step.” Noshiko instructed and Stiles felt her move away from him slightly, pulling his left arm forwards. He carefully placed one foot in from of him, dragging it tentatively over the ground to avoid tripping.

They moved like that, slowly and methodically across the clearing. It felt like they must have walked twice across the clearing by now, but Stiles kept his eyes stubbornly closed despite his certainty that something must have gone wrong. He knew they’d gone 11 paces, but Stiles hadn’t been paying attention to how many steps it took to get across the clearing before they started this.

“Stop,” Leroy’s voice called at the 12th step, “There’s a step here.”

“Don’t open your eyes!” Stiles called quickly, “It might disappear again if you open your eyes.”

“Yeah,” He replied calmly, “I heard the rhyme.”

Stiles heard shuffling and felt Noshiko shuffle to her left slightly. He followed, Aras trailing after him.

“There’s more steps.” Leroy announced, “Get into single file behind me and we’ll make our way down blind.”

With a great deal of shuffling – and a certain amount of bumping into each other with a lack of dignity that Jasmine requested they never speak of again – they got themselves organised and began moving forwards again. Stiles felt Noshiko, ahead of him now, drop suddenly in height and he wasn’t surprised when his next step fell several inches lower. As a group they eased their way down, step by step. Stiles kept a mental count and reached 24 before Leroy’s voice announced the bottom. As his count hit 30 he found himself almost stumbling when his next step hit flat ground.

“Can we open our eyes now?” Jasmine asked.

“Is everybody off of the stair?” Stiles moved his face around as if he could see through his eyelids. “The song thing only specifically mentioned the stair so... maybe we can open them now?”

“I’m not going any further with them closed.” Leroy announced decisively, “It’s too high risk not knowing what’s down here. Woah...”

“What?” Stiles asked frantically when Leroy didn’t follow up, “What does ‘woah’ mean?”

“It means you can open your eyes, kid.” Leroy answered.

Stiles opened his eyes and immediately understood what ‘woah’ meant.

They were standing in a vast underground cavern, much larger than the clearing above. It was much too symmetrical to be formed naturally, but the walls had the smooth, irregular look of a natural cave. There were stalactites dripping from the ceiling and stalagmites bursting from the floors like you would expect in a cave that had been growing slowly over millennia, but they were positioned in an obvious patter that would never have been formed accidentally. And, despite there being no obvious source of light, Stiles could clearly see every part of the cave.

The ceiling of the cave soared darkly above them, undulating in height but certainly more than thirty steps high in places. Stiles turned back the way they had entered and saw steps rising ahead of him. They had moved in a direct line forwards as he’d descended and there had only been thirty of them, but the top wasn’t visible from where he stood, and no daylight fell from above.

Turning to take in the rest of the room he found the others, equally awestruck, inspecting three doorways opposite the staircase.

“This twists a lot,” Jasmine announced from several steps into one of them, “And it feels like it goes a long way. How do we know which path to take?”

“It could be any of them,” Aras announced excitedly, “For all we know this place could be a maze.”

“Not a maze!” Stiles exclaimed suddenly reaching to drag his phone from his pocket, “A labyrinth.”

“A labyrinth has only one path,” Jasmine informed him with derision, “This has at least three.”

“Now, yeah,” Stiles agreed as he swiped through his phone to find what he was looking for, “But the original Labyrinth was a giant maze built to hold the Minotaur. A maze which Theseus found his way through with the help of Ariadne and a ball of yarn.” He spun his phone triumphantly to face the others and watched as they peered, unenlightened at the strange picture displayed.

“What is that meant to be?” Arowatt asked in total confusion.

“Banshee art project,” Stiles explained, turning the phone back to zoom in and examine the picture in detail, “I saw it on Lydia’s desk and it drew my eye because red string has a particular meaning to me and Lydia. Then her roommate told me that Lydia claimed the project was for this art class, but that she knew the project for that art class was on oil painting so it had to be for something else. I took a photo in case it turned out to be something useful, something like a map.”

He turned the phone sideways, inspecting the lines of string, “It looks like we take the left doorway here, then that will lead to a five way split and we take the second from the right.”

Aras moved to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder at the work.

“This must have taken days.” He speculated, “If she knew this was coming why wouldn’t she tell you sooner?”

“She didn’t know,” Stiles explained as he led the way through the left door way and the twisting passage behind, “Lydia does some of her best bansheeing when she has no idea that she’s doing it. She doodled a tree on everything for months before we realised that it was all the exact same tree over and over again. Another time, she filled an entire notebook with math notes and only found out when she tried to lend them to someone that she’d actually hand written 40 pages of a Vigenère cipher.”

“See,” Stiles pointed as they entered a much smaller cavern with five doors, not including the one they’d just stepped through, spaced unevenly around the walls.

They followed Stiles as he led them through the twists and forks of the caves by the photo of Lydia’s mysterious art project on his phone.

“You know,” Jasmine stepped up beside him as they passed into another hallway, “This is a lot more impressive than I’d been led to believe. Maybe we’ll have to reassess our belief that banshees aren’t worth our time.”

Stiles glanced at her warily, “Lydia already has a pack,” he cautioned, “And if you think you can force her to work for you then you might find yourself regretting that.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jasmine assured him, “I meant, it might be time we started paying more attention, keeping an eye on them so we know first if something happens again.”

Stiles nodded slowly, still not entirely certain that that _was_ all she was suggesting or what he could say about it if it wasn’t.

“This is the last turn marked on here,” He advised instead, showing her the picture, “Hopefully it’s at the end of this tunnel.”

He moved ahead and Jasmine allowed him to put some space between them. He had barely gone a handful of steps when a voice rang out from ahead of them.

“Kill each other!” A harsh voice cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I'm sorry. I will do my very best to get the next chapter up pronto.


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to leave you in suspense at these trying times so I've decided I should just power through the remaining chapters as fast as possible. I'm going to try to get the whole thing out before the end of this weekend. So if you want to be able to read through the whole lot in one go, wait until Monday.

“Kill each other!” A harsh voice cried.

Stiles spun quickly and caught a glimpse of eyes glowing – blue, amber, red – and the flash of fangs coming out. Before he could even register what was happening his feet were responding, spinning him back around and launching him down the tunnel, away from the threat behind him. He barrelled down the skinny hallway, bouncing off of the walls as he turned the corners. He didn’t spare a glance backwards as the sounds of snarling and fighting broke out behind him.

He ran only forward and suddenly found himself bolting out into the middle of a large room. The adrenaline in his system threw stark clarity over the situation as he took in three large lumps at the far side of the room and two people standing in the middle, looking surprised to see him running at them.

He reacted before he could think about it and threw his fist into the face of the woman, who happened to be closer. With the momentum of his sprint behind the punch she went straight down as he stumbled but managed to avoid following her.

As he continued towards the man he heard him croak out another command.

“Kill the boy!” The man called, stepping back from Stiles approach. Before he could do more to react Stiles was on him, his fingers automatically reaching for the strange, curved metallic edge that Stiles could see emerging from the flesh of the man’s left arm. He was holding his arm awkwardly away from his body because of it, which gave Stiles the chance to grab the man’s wrist and angle himself between his arm and his body. As a part of his mind registered the footsteps pounding down the tunnel towards him, Stiles dug his fingers under the protruding spike and wrenched upwards.

A massive spray of blood spurted from the man’s arm when the spike – which had appeared smooth based on the part Stiles had been able to see when it was embedded in the arm – tore a terrifying, jagged hole from the man’s wrist to his elbow as vicious barbs ripped through the flesh.

Stiles jerked back in shock as the man immediately stumbled behind him, pulling his arm defensively to his chest and collapsing to his knees.

Stiles turned at the sound of growling and saw four werewolves and a Kitsune descending on him from the tunnel. 

As his heart rate kicked up a dozen notches he felt his brain spring into overdrive. Aras had said that the last order heard held until a new order was given or until the person who gave it died. He glanced at the man bleeding out behind him and knew that he was dying, but not before the five people bearing down on him got there.

He raised the spike in his right hand, noticing the angled barbs that made it enter easily but caused fatal damage on the way out. He noticed the unbelievable sharp edge on the point of the piece, the shapes engraved on the length, and the elegant curve to the blunt end that sat outside of the skin. He also noticed the blood coating the entirety of it.

_I hope there aren’t any unpleasant contagions in his blood_ , he managed to think as he raised his left arm and slammed the spike into the skin of his own wrist.

It slid in with surprising ease and very little pain. He could feel the pressure of it as it slid deep into his wrist and along the bone of his arm, but it didn’t really hurt. He wondered whether that was part of the magic properties of the barb or if it was the adrenaline of the situation. The length of metal slid to a stop with the blunt curve resting against his wrist and the remaining several inches invisible within his arm. He didn’t allow himself to think about what he’d just done, concerned instead with the claws and teeth that would be upon him in moments.

“Stop!” He yelled, without looking up.

Silence followed his cry, apart from the futile noises of the man struggling to stop the blood flowing from the sliced vein in his arm.

Stiles slowly lifted his gaze, scared of what he might find.

The werewolves and Noshiko were arrayed in front of him, frozen in their lunges for him, arms outstretched, claws extended. They were each showing signs of their fight in the tunnel, blood on their clothes and teeth. Noshiko had pulled a kaiken from somewhere and it was coated in someone’s blood.

“Oh, shit.” Stiles took a step back from the unnaturally stationary figures, “Sorry, guys. Just relax.”

He gave the order instinctively, not expecting them to obey so completely, relaxing every muscle so that they collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

“Oops,” he cringed, “I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry. This is not good.”

He wrung his hands together, barely noticing the length of metal that was still sticking firmly in his arm.

“Okay,” He gathered his wits, “We can fix this. Please decide for yourself what you want to do.”

The statement was followed by a complete lack of reaction.

“Well, that didn’t work. I guess I just told you to decide?” He turned the statement into a question that went unsurprisingly unanswered as he fidgeted anxiously at the sight of the prone figures.

“Do what you just decided to do.” Stiles tried to sound decisive.

As one, Jasmine, Aras, Noshiko and Arowatt stood up silently. Leroy stood, walked to the woman that Stiles had punched who was struggling to her feet at the side of the room and put her in an unbreakable arm lock.

They all fell completely still and silent again.

“What?” Stiles exclaimed in exasperation, “That seriously was too specific? None of you thought further than ‘Gee, I wish I was standing’? Well, I guess now I know why Leroy is the top security guy. At least he’s paying attention to what’s going on around him.”

He started pacing anxiously, feeling their gaze follow him silently.

“I can’t do this!” He exclaimed glancing uncomfortably between the metal spike in his arm, his unmoving allies, and the man he’d pulled the spike from, who was now lying still in a large pool of his own blood, no visible signs of life. Stiles felt like he’d bled out faster than he should have from a wound like that, but he wasn’t really familiar enough with how quickly things like that happened usually to know if it was supernatural.

Stiles swallowed back nausea at the thought that he’d once again accidentally killed someone. Then he pushed back more nausea at the thought that he might be following pretty quickly.

“I can’t keep this thing in me forever.” He spoke quietly, eyes on the dead man, “I can’t handle this kind of responsibility. Do you have any idea how frequently I tell people what to do, secure in the knowledge that no one will listen? If I don’t get this out soon I’m going to accidentally tell someone to do something horrible or stupid without realising it.”

He looked back at the others.

“But if I pull this out then apparently I’ll die pretty quickly,” He gestured at the evidence behind him, “And even if we find a way for me not to die you’ll still be trapped by my last instruction; which is bound to be something stupid. Even if I just end on something like ‘don’t worry’ that could forever compromise your ability to recognise risks! I would really rather avoid either outcome if at all possible but I would also really like to not have this thing in my arm for another second. Please tell me one of you has a way out of this.”

Five voices answered him in unison, “One of us has a way out of this.”

Stiles threw up his hands in frustration.

“That’s really helpful. Thank you so much for that.” He paced for a few more minutes, afraid to mutter anything without thinking very carefully about his words.

He stopped, running through an order in his head a few times before speaking slowly.

“Please think about solutions to this situation.”

He gave them a moment in case they couldn’t do so before he’d asked them to.

“Please raise your hand if you have an idea that might help with this situation.”

Aras, Noshiko, Arowatt and Leroy raised their hands, Leroy ensuring that his grip on the woman didn’t falter as he did so.

“Okay,” Stiles nodded in relief, “Good. That’s good. Um, Arowatt let’s start with you. Please tell me your idea.”

“There was a moment after you had inserted the barb but before you spoke when his instruction was lifted and we were free,” Arowatt told him, “So you don’t need to die for us to be freed from your will, we just need someone else to bond with the barb.”

“Really?” Stiles asked in exasperation, “So I really just made everything worse by talking at all. Great. That’s just perfect. Aras, I hope your idea is going to get this thing out of me. Please tell me.”

“We passed a hospital not far from here. If we hurry we could get there in less than half an hour. They can surgically remove the barb.” Aras responded promptly and then fell silent again.

“Right,” Stiles nodded, “Good. Useful. Thanks... Except, I’m really not okay with taking this thing out of here. I don’t know about you guys, since I can’t seem to get you to voice an honest opinion without a great deal of careful phraseology, but I really feel like this thing should definitely stay down here when we leave and we should let the magic of this place take our memory of how to find it. Let it be another 700 years before anyone stumbles across it again.”

He took a breath, struggling to keep himself calm in the face of this, putting every tactic he’d ever learnt about controlling panic attacks into practice.

 “Leroy,” He said, “Let’s hear your thoughts.”

“If we can get the barb out of you, then one of us can use it and force her,” Leroy jerked the woman in his grip, “to tell us where the banshees are and every piece of evidence or source of information that lead them here. If we’re leaving the barb here, then we need to make sure there isn’t someone else outside who knows how to find it.”

“Okay,” Stiles started pacing again, “Valid point. Well reasoned. Not helping me get this thing out of my arm without dying but, hey, that idea would also free you from my stupid control. Noshiko, you’re my last hope, please tell me you have a plan.”

“I have a plan,” Noshiko assured him.

Stiles looked at her hopefully but then realised his mistake, “Urgh, I mean, tell me how to fix this.”

“We can tie a tourniquet around your arm before removing the barb. Since Aras is the one who knows where the hospital is he should take Jasmine’s keys. The instant that we pull the barb out of you, we wrap your arm as best we can, as quickly as we can, and Aras gets you out of here and to the hospital as fast as possible. The rest of us will remain here until we are certain that you are out of these tunnels and therefore beyond earshot. One of us bonds with the barb freeing the others from your will. Then we can use the power of the barb to get the information we required from the woman, safe in the knowledge that as she is the only living human in earshot and no one else will be affected by the power.”

“Aaah...Right.” Stiles nodded frantically, “That’s... not my favourite plan ever. Particularly not a fan of the part where you rip this thing out of me. But I haven’t got any better ideas and if I don’t get this thing out of me soon I’m going to have a panic attack so...”

Stiles took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and held out his arm, “Do it.”

Stiles heard movement around him and couldn’t keep his eyes closed through the tension. He opened them to find Noshiko and Arowatt moving towards him, Arowatt having pulled the sleeves off of this shirt to tear into bandages. Behind them, Jasmine handed Aras her keys, while Leroy stayed where he was, detaining the woman.

Stiles had a moment to wonder at the synchronicity of their actions. Noshiko hadn’t mentioned specifically who would undertake which tasks beyond Aras being the one to get Stiles to the hospital; and the only instruction he’d given was the very descriptive ‘Do it’. Based on his previous failed orders he’d half expected that to result in chaos. But instead they seemed to automatically fall into some kind of understanding, Noshiko holding Stiles’ arm steady while Arowatt tied a strip of cloth tightly around his upper arm. Noshiko checked the pulse in Stiles wrist and gave a nod to Arowatt who seized the protruding spike and, before Stiles could so much as flinch in anticipation, ripped it out swiftly. As he did, Aras moved in promptly with the remaining fabric from Arowatt’s sleeve and wrapped it efficiently around his forearm, tightly binding the gash closed.

Stiles didn’t really notice that part as he had closed his eyes properly now, struggling to stay conscious and upright at the sight of his own blood and the sudden, horrific pain shooting through his arm. He felt Noshiko supporting him and holding his arm steady in a vice-like grip throughout.

He opened his eyes when he felt himself being handed off. Aras had dragged Stiles’ right arm over his shoulders and started dragging him quickly out of the room. Stiles glanced back to see the others standing still, watching them leave silently.

“Okay,” He winced, stumbling to keep up with Aras’ fast pace, “That was unpleasant. Really unpleasant. But it’s done now, right? Everything’s going to be fine now.”

Aras didn’t reply as he continued to drag Stiles through the tunnels. The way back seemed much shorter than the path in had been and they were soon at the base of the steps.

“Right,” Stiles found himself rambling through a heavy layer of fatigue and pain, “Because the last order holds until someone else uses the thing. And all I told you to do was get me out of here. So you don’t get to do anything else. You don’t even get to interrogate me about what it was like to use a legendary object that few people have ever touched. I bet you would love to ask about that. Well, I’ll tell you what it was like. It was freaking terrifying.”

As Aras dragged Stiles up the steps they suddenly found themselves bursting out into the sunlight, their feet on solid, grassy earth, and no sign of a stairway anywhere.

“I’m really super sorry for making you guys do those things. I’m really sorry. I had no idea what I was doing. Hopefully you don’t hate me for it when you get your free will back.”

They were almost back at the hiking trail when Aras suddenly jerked to a stop. Stiles stumbled and would have fallen if Aras hadn’t been holding him up.

“Your control has been lifted,” Aras told him.

“Oh,” Stiles fumbled to get his feet back under him, “Good. That’s good. You’re still willing to take me to the hospital though, right?”

“Of course,” Aras hoisted him more securely over his shoulder and started moving again, just as quickly as before.

“Cool, thanks,” Stiles replied dizzily, “Because despite the tourniquet I still seem to be losing a lot of blood.”


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speed post! I'm already late for a thing so I'll keep this short. Just wanted to stick in a quick DISCLAIMER: There is mention in this chapter of medical stuff that is entirely made up to suit the story. I mean, I do have a basic first aid certificate that is heading towards expiry, so clearly I'm an expert on all of this. But, fair warning, this may not line up with any real world physiology or healthcare.

Jasper Arowatt looked at the piece of metal protruding from his arm in interest. He and the others had remained standing, silently waiting, as they listened to Stiles and Aras making their way back through the tunnels. Somehow, he’d known when they were no longer in the caverns and he’d raised the spike and plunged it into his own arm.

The instant that it lodged in place against his ulna he felt a wash of confused emotions break over him. He’d been entirely aware during the previous moments but unable to react to the events in any way or even really think about what was happening. He took a few moments, standing there in the dark, to examine the events that had taken place and clinically inspect his own feelings about it.

Mostly, he found himself feeling surprised and grateful.

Stiles had saved them. The kid had proven himself useful on their journey here, but Jasper would never have picked him as someone whom he could trust with his life or the safety of his pack. In fact, the list of people that he would have trusted to use the power of the barb wisely started and ended with himself. But Stiles had come through. He’d had the alpha for one of the largest and oldest werewolf packs in the world under his command and he’d given it up without a thought.

Even the mistakes that Stiles had made had been generally harmless, and he’d done everything he could to limit the effects of his actions. Jasper wasn’t sure that there was anyone in his pack who would have made that choice so quickly and without regret. Everyone craved power and control of some kind.

He glanced around at the others and found them all in similar states of introspection. It was an odd experience to come out of the empty feeling that being under the sway of the barb gave you. It was like having every reaction you would have had hit you simultaneously. They all needed a moment to process the information.

Jasper looked over at Leroy to discover that he was watching him, the fierce look on his face one that Jasper recognised. It was a look that Leroy wore when he thought he’d failed. It didn’t cross his face much these days as Jasper had slowly convinced him over the years that he was a brilliant, vital part of his team; that he _was_ Jasper’s team. He knew that he would have to spend a few hours going over the events with Leroy, convincing him that he’d done all he could, that it had worked out anyway, that he had, in fact, done better under the sway of the barb than any of the rest of them.

But first there were more pressing concerns. His reawakened mind was putting together an extensive list of all of the potential issues that they would need to resolve before they could leave this place. They needed to be absolutely certain that there was no way anyone could find it. Even with the barb to speed things along this was going to take some time.

“Right,” He focussed on the woman in Leroy’s grip, “Let’s start with the easy questions.”

  * -



Stiles wasn’t sure how they made it down the mountain without falling. He knew that Aras was doing most of the work, dragging Stiles down the steep hill at a terrifying pace. Before he knew it he was being poured into the passenger side of Jasmine’s car, his head starting to spin alarmingly.

“I don’t feel so good.” He confessed to Aras as he peered at the red soaked fabric wrapped around his arm.

“Five more minutes, Stiles,” Aras promised, glancing at him.

He started the car and threw it into reverse, spinning them out of the parking spot and aiming the car down the hill.

“You need to stay conscious, Stiles,” Aras instructed without passion, “Try raising your arm above your head to slow the bleeding.”

“Right,” Stiles replied weakly, “Conscious. Can do. Thanks, you know, for doing this. Sorry about my ineptitude with that thing.”

Aras laughed hollowly, “I know you think I should be angry at you for taking control of us, but I remember everything quite clearly. You have no idea what it feels like to be completely aware of what is happening and unable to control your own body. I’m incredibly grateful for your ineptitude.”

“Actually, I’m quite familiar with that particular feeling of helplessness,” Stiles admitted, “I was possessed by a Nogitsune for a while. Killed a lot of people. Practically gutted my best friend. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not ever.”

Aras looked over in surprise as Stiles voice faded into silence. The revelation shocked him out of the detached state he’d been in since Stiles’ control had been lifted.

“A nogitsune?” Aras asked, his usual interest rekindling in his voice, “And you survived? That’s unheard of! I would love to hear more about it.”

Silence came from Stiles side of the car and Aras glanced over to find him slumped with his eyes closed.

“Stiles?” He asked in concern, “Stiles!”

  * -



The nurse at the emergency entrance of the hospital looked up unfazed as Aras rushed over to her dragging the semi-conscious Stiles with him. A glance at his arm, however, had her jumping into motion. Aras found himself inundated with questions about how it had happened, how long the tourniquet had been on for, and what he knew about Stiles history. He answered what he could, which wasn’t much, and avoided the questions about how it had happened. While he deflected the interrogation, Stiles was plonked onto a gurney and wheeled down the corridor.

Stiles wasn’t really certain what was going on around him. His ears were ringing and there were dark spots flashing before his eyes. He heard them ask his name but wasn’t really sure what he replied. He wasn’t sure if he’d answered the blood type question either. He did however manage to rattle off the syllables his mother had made him memorise at a young age to be regurgitated when questioned about allergies.

He thought he felt a sharp pinch on his good arm, but it faded quickly and he wondered if he’d imagined it as a much sharper prodding sent burning pain shooting up his left arm. He couldn’t feel his hand, but everything above it was agony.

They were asking more questions now as they unwrapped the makeshift bandages.

“What happened, Stiles?” One of the blurry figures asked him.

He didn’t even try to answer that. Instead he watched as they prodded at the wound, his usual queasiness at the sight of blood and trauma suppressed by the pain and blood loss.

“Shit,” He heard a voice above him mutter, “It looks like someone took a saw to his arm.”

“Feels like someone took a saw to my arm,” Stiles managed to mutter in response. He realised that his head was starting to feel clearer, his vision coming back into focus. He suddenly recognised that he was looking at the inside of his own arm as they stitched the messy gash together and had to turn his head away quickly.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” He cringed as he looked pointedly in the other direction. His eye caught on the IV needle attached to his right arm and he followed the tube up to see two bags – one mysteriously clear, the other recognisably sanguine – and guessed this was why he was starting to feel better.

In fact, he was starting to feel a lot better. The pain in his arm had faded and a pleasant floating sensation was starting to replace it. He glanced back at his left arm and found that once again the sight of his own blood didn’t bother him, this time through the heavy haze of whatever drugs they’d pumped into him.

The doctor working on him cut something free and then leaned in to start stitching again. He was muttering to the nurse who was helping him about how messy the wound was and how hard it was to get the edges to meet cleanly.

“This is going to be a slow one to heal,” The doctor informed him as Stiles smiled calmly at him, “And I can’t promise that your dexterity won’t be affected.”

“Your phone is ringing,” The nurse pointed out to Stiles who suddenly registered the musical sound coming from his pocket. He lifted his right hand but noticed the way it pulled on the IV. He glanced at his left arm which they were now wrapping in gauze, wondering when that would be done.

The ringing stopped.

“It was probably Scott,” He told the nurse, thinking she might want to know. “I think I missed the 2 hour mark.”

He suddenly remembered that they still had to find Lydia and jolted upright so suddenly that both of the people beside him jumped.

“Where’s Aras?” He asked frantically, “I need to talk to him. We have to go. I need to get to Lydia.”

The doctor laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, holding him still, “Calm down, Stiles. We’re almost done with your arm, but you lost a lot of blood and you can’t go anywhere yet. We need to get another bag of blood into you and wait for the local anaesthetic to wear off first.”

“No,” Stiles insisted, struggling slightly, “I have to go. Where’s Aras?”

“Aras?” The doctor asked.

“He brought me in. He has to be here somewhere!” Stiles insisted.

The doctor gestured to the nurse who moved away.

“Okay, Stiles,” the doctor pushed against his shoulder, “Angie is going to get Aras. But while we wait for him to get here I need you to stay still so I can finish up here. Can you do that, Stiles?”

Stiles slumped back, noticing in the moment how woozy he felt.

“Yeah,” He agreed wearily, “But only if we can negotiate on the staying here forever thing. I really need to go. Lydia needs my help.”

“You’re not in any condition to be helping others, Stiles,” the doctor replied, “You can barely sit up straight. I seriously doubt you could walk in a straight line.”

“Don’t need to walk straight, just need to walk at all. Aras will make sure I don’t get into any more trouble, Doctor –” Stiles frowned as he realised he had no idea what the doctor’s name was.

“Doctor Karunaratne,” Came the reply.

Stiles nodded with a frown and said drunkenly, “Think I’ll have to stick with ‘doctor’ today.”

“Most people do,” he sighed.

“Look, I know there’s all these rules and stuff, but this is really, really important. Aren’t there things about letting people go against medical advice? What do I have to do to get one of those?”

Doctor Karunaratne sighed again, “Fine, if your friend agrees to take care of you then I won’t try to make you stay. You’ve probably got about 5 minutes left on the IV bags we’ve got hanging now. Once they’re done I’ll let you go, but with a few rules that you have to promise to follow.”

“Sure,” Stiles nodded, “Definitely. I can follow rules. Been doing it my whole life. Rule follower, right here.”

The doctor gave him a knowing look.

“First of all,” He began, “We gave you some serious painkillers and the dose we gave you was based on the assumption that you’d be given a second unit of blood. If you insist on skipping that part then the concentration of the painkiller in your system is going to make you very woozy and disoriented. No driving, no cooking, no signing legal documents, or making long term decisions. We also applied a local anaesthetic to the area so you won’t be able to feel the damage you could be causing by moving your arm. So no moving it until the local wears off. In fact, I’ll strap you into a sling so that you can’t do anything and you have to promise to leave it on until you are literally begging for more painkillers.

“As for the painkillers,” He continued, “You’ll get a prescription for some pretty strong ones and also some antibiotics to prevent infection. With what we gave you here you’ll have to wait 6 hours before you can take the painkillers. And trust me, you will want to take them before that.

“There’s three layers of stitches in your arm. The internal ones are dissolvable, but the outer ones will need to be removed in three weeks. The bandaging will need to be changed regularly. If you notice any swelling, redness or irritation in the area find a doctor immediately. Got all that?”

“Yep,” Stiles nodded agreeably, “Totally, 100%. But maybe you could write it down since I’m a little bit high on painkillers right now?”

Doctor Karunaratne shook his head but dragged out a note pad and started scribbling things down. While he was writing the nurse came back, followed by Aras.

“Aras!” Stiles started to lift his hand in a wave but the doctor growled at him and Stiles carefully lowered it back to the table. “Did they find Lydia?”

Aras gave Stiles an appraising look before answering, “Yes, they got an address. Dvorak Street, it’s not too far from here. Probably why those two got there before we did.”

“Is she okay? Can I talk to her?” Stiles asked.

Aras shook his head, “They haven’t gone there yet. Jasmine called to let me know the address and check that we got here in time but they still have some other questions they want to ask before they leave.”

“What other questions?” Stiles scoffed, “Lydia is the only thing that matters.”

“Questions like how they found out about the place, who talked to them and who they talked to, whether they wrote anything down or passed the information along to others. Important questions. And they decided that there was probably a reason why the original alphas didn’t bury the tyrant with the spike so they aren’t going to leave the two down there when they go. They’ll head to the address once they’ve disposed of everything.”

“What? They’re just going to…” Stiles swallowed and dropped his voice to a whisper, “kill her?”

Aras gave him a look, “You realise that whisper was louder than your normal tone don’t you?”

“What?” Stiles’ foggy brain was confused by this statement, “No it wasn’t. Whispering is quieter than talking.”

The doctor walked back into the room at that moment and Stiles realised he hadn’t noticed him or the nurse leaving.

“Okay, Stiles,” Doctor Karunaratne moved over beside him and started strapping a sling around his arm, “I’m strapping you into this as tightly as possible. No wiggle room. Like I told you, leave this on until you no longer want to take it off, okay.”

He directed this towards Aras and then proceeded to run through the rest of the conditions he’d already given for Stiles release.

“I’ve put all of that in writing on this note,” He held up a small piece of paper, “Which I’m putting with this prescription, and this pamphlet on caring for your stitches into your shirt pocket. Don’t forget it.”

Stiles nodded as the doctor tucked the pages securely into the shirt pocket that now rested under his left hand.

After checking the IVs and Stiles’ vitals again Doctor Karunaratne signed a page on the chart and handed it to Aras.

“There you go, Stiles, you’re officially being released against medical advice. If you’re going to get yourself killed because of it try to make it happen at a different hospital. That way I get to pretend you made it home safe and nothing went wrong.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, “I promise to die elsewhere.”

The doctor shook his head and left the room at the same time as the nurse re-entered with a wheelchair. She removed the IV from his arm and helped him into the chair.

Stiles tested the sling as he was wheeled out to the reception area again. It really was very firmly wrapped. He could barely move his arm at all.

Out in reception he paid little attention to whatever Aras was talking to the nurses about until he caught a glimpse of a credit card changing hands.

“Wait,” His mind struggled into action, “I have insurance. I think… of some kind.”

“Don’t worry about it, Stiles,” Aras reassured him, “I can afford this. Besides, Jasper will probably reimburse me.”

“Why?” Stiles asked in confusion.

 Aras smiled as he turned to push Stiles out to the carpark.

“Didn’t you realise, Stiles?” He asked, “You saved all of our lives. We owe you considerably more than one hospital bill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do Americans really pay for hospital bills with credit cards? You may have noticed based on some of my spelling, I come from a place with universal health care. So my understanding of the US system comes entirely from TV shows.


	19. Chapter 18

Stiles kept his eyes closed during the short ride. Seeing the world move past the windows made his head spin.

When they pulled up in front of a non-descript one-storey house he braced himself to stand again. Aras came around to help him out of the car, but Stiles insisted on making his own, slightly unstable, way up the front path to the door. Aras followed closely, ready to step in if Stiles’ feet couldn’t handle the job on their own.

When they reached the door Stiles raised his hand to knock, but Aras reached past him and snapped the lock, pushing the door open quietly.

“Right,” Stiles remembered, “There’s no one here to answer.”

The door opened into an empty hallway. To the right the hall opened onto a small living room, sparsely furnished with second hand furniture and not a single decorative or unnecessary object in sight.

Aras stepped into the living room, glancing around as if something might be hiding in the small room.

“Maybe we should split up,” Stiles suggested, stepping further down the hallway instead of following Aras into the living room, “We know that no one else is here and we’ll find Lydia faster if we spilt up.”

Aras glanced back to give Stiles an appraising look as he made his way slowly down the hall, his right had pressed against the wall for stability.

“Fine,” Aras agreed, “But I promised that doctor that I wouldn’t let you do anything stupid so please be careful.”

“Will do,” Stiles nodded, pulling open a door to reveal a closet with a pair of shoes and an umbrella inside. He closed the door and moved onto the next one. This one opened onto a small bedroom and Stiles eased his way inside to check that closet as well.

“Lydia?” He called as he stepped back into the hallway.

He pushed the next door open expecting it to be another closet and stumbled when the floor disappeared into steps. He held tightly to the door handle with his right hand as he steadied himself and then leaned heavily on the stairwell wall until his head stopped spinning quite so much.

“Lydia?” He called again as he made his way extra cautiously down the steps, which seemed somewhat unstable and lopsided to his vision, but he wasn’t sure if it was bad carpentry or the drugs. He had to keep his focus trained on the step directly below his feet, taking the time to make sure the next foot was firmly planted before lifting the previous one.

Suddenly he ran out of steps and found himself staring at a large wooden door with three large bolts holding it closed.

He called Lydia’s name again as he fumbled with the locks. She had to be here, he told himself. That’s what locks were for, keeping the prisoners in. He shoved against the heavy door with his good shoulder. It moved slowly, dragging against the floor. He shoved it open just enough to step through.

“Lydia?” He asked the small empty space with disappointment. To his right there was another door, bolted just like the last one.

“Come on, Lydia,” He called as he struggled to get the locks open with one hand on the wrong angle, “Answer me.”

He slid the last bolt free and took a step back, hoping that momentum would help move the heavy door. He slammed himself forward and let out a yelp of surprise when this door opened considerably smoother than the previous one and he stumbled straight through into the room beyond and locked eyes on Lydia.

She was standing in the middle of the room, in front of a terrified young girl. Lydia had her hands raised defensively in front of her, with a fierce look on her face that vanished the second she met his gaze.

“Stiles!” She leapt forward to throw her arms around him and he raised his good arm instinctively to catch her.

“Lydia,” He sagged in relief, “You’re here; you’re okay.”

“Stiles?” He heard another voice ask and then he felt another, smaller body slam into him from the side.

He glanced down to find the other girl staring up at him with admiration.

“You must be Teresa,” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

“I knew you’d come,” Teresa told him fervently, “Lydia promised that you’d come.”

He looked back at Lydia and found her watching him closely, her concerned eyes taking in his injury and his exhaustion.

“And I’m here,” he nodded, extracting himself carefully from Teresa’s grip to lean tiredly against the wall next to the door. “Sorry it took so long. I was worried I might not get here in time.”

“I wasn’t,” Teresa announced firmly, “Lydia told me all the stories about you. You always figure it out. You always get there in time.”

Stiles was still watching Lydia, unable to tear his gaze away from her. She was barefoot, her hair in tangles, her pyjamas grimy after two days in this place; but she was here, right in front of him. He felt a smile spread across his face at the sight of her, safe and whole, and he recognised the similar smile that spread across her face. A smile that said things hadn’t been easy, but everything would be okay now that they were here. A smile to assure that all the things they’d done were worth it to be standing together again.

Maria had a point, Stiles realised, sometimes words did just dilute the message.

“Well,” Stiles answered Teresa while he kept his eyes on Lydia, “I have a lot of help.”

At that moment Aras appeared in the doorway beside Stiles.

“Good, you found them,” Aras nodded at the sight of the two banshees, “The others have just pulled up.”

“Others?” Lydia asked, her gaze flicking questioningly between Stiles and this stranger.

“Like I said,” Stiles answered, his focus slipping from her as he slid slightly down the wall he was leaning against, “Lots of help.”

Lydia kept her watchful gaze on the stranger in the doorway as Stiles moved to push himself back up to standing. His appearance put her on edge. He was completely unfamiliar to her and she didn’t know what he was doing here or why he would be helping to find them. She’d half expected Stiles to show up completely alone when he found them, and half expected the whole pack to show up for her. It hadn’t occurred to her that total strangers might be involved.

She spun her attention back to Stiles as he stumbled and fell back against the wall again.

“Woah,” He giggled, “Stop moving the floor.”

“Stiles?” Lydia moved closer to him, placing herself subtly between him and the stranger in the doorway, “Are you okay? What happened to you?”

“I’m great,” Stiles laughed again, “Just got more painkillers than blood in my veins right now.”

“What happened to him?” She turned accusingly to the man whose name she still didn’t know.

“It’s quite a fascinating story,” he began enthusiastically, “Though I was there throughout, my point of view was somewhat compromised, so I look forward to hearing Stiles account when he’s feeling better.”

The sound of people coming down the stairs interrupted him and he stepped aside to allow several others to enter the small room.

Lydia kept herself angled protectively in front of Stiles and Teresa as more strangers entered. She was only slightly relieved to see the familiar face of Noshiko among them.

“Hey!” Stiles announced groggily, “Everybody’s here!”

“You must be Lydia,” And older man stepped forward gently, he kept his hands visibly open and his voice calm in response to her defensive body language. “I am Jasper Arowatt, alpha of the Arowatt Pack. These are my people, Jasmine, Leroy and Aras. I can understand you may feel threatened by the number of strangers here and the state that your friend is in, but I want to assure you that no one will hurt you. In fact, we are incredibly grateful for your help with this situation. If the bronze bard had gotten out into the world the results would have been disastrous.”

Lydia made an effort to relax slightly, though she kept her position between the newcomers and her friends.

“Well,” She offered warily, “I guess if you’re friends with Stiles then you can’t be too bad. And if you helped find me then I suppose I’m meant to thank you.”

Arowatt smiled at her less than friendly response and replied, “We only met Stiles today, but he has proven himself to be quite the individual. I sincerely hope that we can call ourselves friends, or at least allies, going forwards.”

“This thing is annoying,” Stiles interrupted from where he leaned crookedly against the wall behind Lydia. She turned to see him pulling at the straps on his sling, seemingly oblivious to the conversation around him. “How do you get it off?”

“You can’t,” Aras stepped forward quickly to pull Stiles’ hand away from the strap, “You have to leave it on, remember? You can’t feel the damage that moving your arm would cause you.”

Lydia spared one more glance at the strange werewolves arrayed around them and decided to trust them. Even in his current state, she decided, Stiles wouldn’t let down his guard this much if he thought that they were a threat.

She turned her back decisively on the strangers to move beside Stiles, dragging his right arm over her shoulders to steady him. She felt oddly and immediately safer with his weight at her side.

“What happened to him?” She asked.

“Stiles was very brave and clever,” Arowatt answered her, “And very selfless. He did something that he knew was unwise and as a result he saved us all from a terrible fate.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Stiles,” Lydia took in the way that his arm was wrapped inside the sling and remembered Nigel’s words about what happened when a human used the spike and tried to remove it. She looked back to the others to ask, “Is there anything else that he isn’t remembering about that injury?”

Aras pointed out the pages in Stiles’ shirt pocket and Lydia pulled them out carefully. She read quickly through the instructions, raised an eyebrow at the strength of the prescriptions, and glanced at the pamphlet on caring for stitches. She then shoved them safely back in Stiles’ pocket.

“Well,” She turned back to the group, “I don’t know what your plans were here, but I would really like to get out of this basement. Somewhere with a shower preferably, and something other than pyjamas to wear.”

“Of course,” Arowatt replied graciously, “And we should certainly get Teresa home to her mother who, I understand, is very concerned about her.”

Two of the werewolves and Noshiko offered to help Stiles up the stairs, but Lydia wasn’t ready to let go of him quite yet. Instead, she shepherded him out herself after the others had ascended, dragging much of his weight on her own shoulders as they slowly climbed the stairs.

At the top of the steps she found the other in the living room, discussing what still needed to be done before they could put these events to rest.

Jasmine was talking to Teresa, promising to take her straight home and explain to her parents what she was and why she had been taken.

“We’ll look out for you from now on, Teresa,” Lydia heard Jasmine saying, “We can help you learn how to control your power, or how to ignore it if that’s what you’d prefer. And we will protect you. I promise.”

Lydia smiled to hear someone else take up the same promise she’d made, glad that Teresa would have multiple people to look out for her now, a support structure that Lydia knew she would need as her powers grew stronger.

On the other side of the room Noshiko and Arowatt were discussing their remaining to do list while Aras and Leroy listened in. Apparently there were documents in the building that needed to be found and destroyed, several people needed to be spoken to, and the GPS history on their own devices needed to be erased.

“I think we should probably get Stiles back to the hospital as well,” Noshiko added.

 “No,” Stiles spoke drunkenly from Lydia’s side, “No hospital. I’m not letting Lydia out of my sight again… Except maybe for a short nap.”

“Stiles,” Noshiko reprimanded him, “You’re not okay. You need medical attention.”

“I don’t want to,” Stiles answered stubbornly, “I just found her. I’m not letting her disappear again.”

Lydia held back a smile at his statement. She knew it was irrational and silly, but she felt the same way. Having Stiles here, even a drugged up Stiles, made her feel safer.

“It’s fine,” She assured Noshiko, “The instructions in his pocket are pretty clear. We can take care of him without taking him back to the hospital.”

“Alright,” Noshiko agreed reluctantly, “That just leaves the matter of the police.”

“Well,” Leroy joined the conversation without leaving his spot, staring suspiciously out the window, “Lydia was only officially missing for a handful of hours, so it shouldn’t be hard to come up with a plausible excuse for that. And we have some contacts who can ensure that both cases are closed without too many questions being asked.”

“Corruption,” Stiles announced, “Hooray!”

Lydia didn’t think that she was the only one choking back a laugh. Even Arowatt was smirking slightly.

“You should definitely get them home,” He told Noshiko, “We can take care of the rest. We will contact you when it’s taken care of.”

Decision made, they started moving out to the cars. Lydia handed Stiles off to Noshiko just long enough to give Teresa a hug goodbye and a promise to talk to her soon. She watched as Jasmine drove the girl away, taking her home to her mother.

She was standing with Stiles on the curb, waiting for Noshiko to open the door for them when a ringing sound erupted suddenly from Stiles’ pocket.

Lydia dragged Stiles’ phone from his pocket and smiled at the name on the screen.

“Hi, Scott,” She answered cheerfully.

“Lydia?!” Scott shouted in shock, a sound quickly followed by Kira’s voice.

“Oh my god!” Kira laughed in relief, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lydia took a deep breath of the fresh air and turned her face up to the setting sun, “Everything’s fine now. We’re all okay.”

She turned to smile gratefully at Stiles while Scott and Kira made random expressions of joy and relief. She found him swaying slightly, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Well,” She admitted into the phone, “We’re all okay except for Stiles, who is high as a kite on some pretty impressive pain meds. But he’s going to be fine. I’ll take care of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more to go. I will get it up later today, I hope.


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. Kind of heard to believe but I'm actually done. Thanks for reading. I hope you're content with the way I took this story and how I've ended it. I had originally intended to have some kind of epilogue with more stuff, but when I got here it just felt like the right place to stop. So I did. Enjoy!

Lydia woke up early the next morning to find Stiles snoring quietly beside her.

He had fallen asleep in the car on the way back to the Yukimura’s apartment and had barely roused enough for them to get him out of the car. The two women had managed to drag him inside and dump him onto the sofa where he’d stayed, oblivious to the rest of the world, while Lydia showered and got dressed in an outfit borrowed from Noshiko.

Lydia had borrowed Stiles’ phone to call her mom and the police, telling the latter a story about forgetting her phone at home when she left yesterday and spending the night elsewhere –  so sorry for making anyone worry. They took her story in stride and admitted that it happened more often than you’d think. They told her when and where she could pick up the things that they’d taken from her home as evidence and they let her go.

She’d then gone to speak to Noshiko.

“Thanks so much for your help,” Lydia said gratefully, “And for your hospitality, for letting Stiles stay here. But I have to get home, reassure my roommate that I’m alive, and I think Stiles would probably be happier to be wherever I am when he wakes up properly. Is it okay if he stays with me tonight?”

Noshiko had smiled at her warmly, “Of course, I’ve already packed his things.”

They’d wrangled Stiles back to the car. It was slightly easier this time as he was a bit more cognisant after his nap, though he fell straight back to sleep when they got him into the back seat.

After a few stops along the way – at the police station to pick up Lydia’s belongings and the pharmacy to fill Stiles’ prescription – they pulled up in front of Lydia’s place.

The sound of the car doors opening had Stiles jolting out of his sleep, a look of pain crossing his face.

“Oh, god, that hurts,” Stiles winced as he curled his right arm protectively around his left, “Why didn’t anyone tell me it was going to hurt this much?”

“Pretty sure your doctor did,” Lydia informed him as she reached in to help him out of the car, “The note used the words ‘literally begging for painkillers’ so I suspect it’s going to get worse.”

“Not if you give me painkillers,” Stiles suggested optimistically.

“Sorry, Stiles,” Lydia dragged his backpack out of the car and shut the door, “It hasn’t been six hours yet.”

“Six hours since what?” Stiles asked in confusion.

“Since a doctor put a detailed and disapproving note in your shirt pocket,” Lydia told him, “Pretty sure you were there at the time.”

“Right,” Stiles nodded, “Doctor Karunaratne. I remember… mostly. You could still give me, like, half a painkiller, though, right? They always leave a safety buffer in those dosage limits. Please?”

“Nope,” Lydia informed him lightly, “The note made it sound like leaving the hospital early was already pushing that safety buffer. But, since you did just officially beg for painkillers that means that you can take that sling off now.”

“Take it off?” Stiles sounded horrified, “But then I might _move_ my arm. That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Yeah,” Lydia agreed, “That’s probably why they put it on you in the first place.”

After thanking Noshiko one more time and waving goodbye, Lydia hooked Stiles’ backpack over her shoulder, looped the bag with her possessions and Stiles’ drugs over her wrist, and prodded Stiles up the path to the front door.

It had taken some talking and a slightly altered version of the story she’d given the police to calm Abigail down, but soon enough they were collapsing on Lydia’s bed.

“We can just sleep now, right?” She asked Stiles as they lay side-by-side, staring up at the ceiling.

“Definitely,” He’d agreed heartily, “For like a week.”

But they hadn’t. Instead, they’d talked.

She’d told him all the details about what had happened to her; he’d explained how he’d tracked her down. He’d been suitably impressed with the way she’d manipulated the couple and kept Teresa calm. She’d been surprised to hear that her art project had been a guide through a maze she hadn’t known existed. Then she’d realised that meant she had less than a week to make a whole project with oil paint.

When the six hour mark rolled around Lydia dished out his pills as per the prescription since the bottles were not designed to be opened one handed.

They’d discussed whether the Arowatt Pack was actually trustworthy and what their goal might be in helping Teresa. They’d speculated about what had happened to Polly and Nigel to make them want the spike so desperately, and they’d pondered what the hidden maze had been created for originally, since it had apparently been around long before the spike was put there. Stiles had admitted that he’d technically killed Nigel and he wasn’t sure what he was meant to think or feel about that because between the chaos and the drugs of the day he hadn’t had a chance to dwell on it.

Eventually they’d gotten hungry and ordered pizza, venturing out all the way to the front door to collect it before returning to Lydia’s room and their conversations.

They’d moved on from the last few days to the last few years. Lydia explained in excited detail the paper she was working on for her favourite class and Stiles described his new flat and their amazing games nights. Stiles confessed to the stalkery things that he’d done in the past 48 hours while trying to find her and revealed his thought that he had failed her by not keeping up with the little things in her life. Lydia forgave him for snooping, under the circumstances, and pointed out that she was just as bad at staying in touch. Besides, she’d told him, it hadn’t mattered; he’d still found her faster than anyone else could have.

Eventually the exhaustion had overcome their conversation and they’d fallen silent.

Lydia was just beginning to drift off when Stiles’ bleary voice interrupted her.

“I never did figure out the piano music and clicking,” He admitted.

“Dvorak,” Lydia told him sleepily, “I saw the sign when we were leaving. The house was on Dvorak Street.”

“Like the keyboard?” He asked confused.

“Exactly, clicking like typing on a keyboard. But there was another Dvorak, a composer.” She informed him.

“Oh,” Silence settled over them for a few moments before Stiles confessed, “I was never going to get that one.”

“Nope,” Lydia agreed, “That was definitely one of the more useless things that I’ve heard. Good thing you didn’t need it.”

“Yeah,” Stiles reached over to place his good hand on hers and squeezed, whether to comfort her or reassure himself she couldn’t tell, and didn’t care. “Really good.”

That was the last they’d spoken before sleep had claimed them both.

As Lydia watched Stiles sleeping peacefully beside her the next morning she found herself thinking once more about what had happened.

Much as she could have done without the threats of death and torture, it had felt good to use her banshee powers again. Focussing on the puzzle of the spike and how to minimise the number of lives at risk had brought back a feeling of strength and control that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She’d thought, when she had left California, that it would be nice to get away from all of the life threatening situations. And it had been nice for a while. But lately she’d started to realise how much more she lost by giving up that part of her life.

She used to help people with her powers. She used to save lives. These days when she heard something she did her best to block it out. When she couldn’t block it out she would follow the path it laid out, but she didn’t know the city or the people in it well enough to get there before death did. So she ignored the banshee part of her as much as she could, because she’d already found enough bodies for one life time.

But each time she pushed back the sounds and choked down the screams she remembered the days when she could get there in time to save people. Days when she had a whole support structure to help her do just that; people that she could call with vague clues and seemingly useless fragments who would jump into action without a second’s thought.

The people she had around her here wouldn’t react that way. None of them knew that she was a banshee. None of them knew that she was anything other than a normal, unremarkable human, or that she’d been through things they couldn’t even imagine.

At first, it had been a relief. The whole first year – overwhelmed by the new life she’d stumbled into, the new city, classes, and friends – it had felt like an old, comforting outfit that she could put on. The girl who knew only traditional high school dramas and cared only about grades and social events was well tested armour that had seen her through several difficult times, before she’d let Allison and Stiles poke holes in it. As the years had progressed here she’d thought it was better this way, that she could choose the easier life, the normal life. She thought that if she just wore the mask of normal then she could believe it herself.

In the last year, however, that comforting mask had started to chafe. It wasn’t a pleasant break from reality anymore; it was a lie. She’d outgrown that person and the longer she spent pretending to be her again, the more obvious it became. She wasn’t normal. She never would be.

Being a banshee was a huge part of who she was and how she defined herself. The fact that no one here knew that meant that no one here really knew her. She couldn’t tell them that the reason she was late to a party was because she’d found herself travelling in completely the wrong direction until she’d stumbled across a body and had to call the police. She couldn’t explain that when she skipped a class claiming a migraine it wasn’t pain that filled her head but overwhelming, indecipherable noises. People were dying every second in this city and ignoring the things she heard didn’t make it stop.

And then this; a tangible reminder that things didn’t have to be that way. Proof that if she embraced her banshee side once more then she could save people. Confirmation that if she needed help then the old pack would be there for her without question; just like they always had been.

She remembered Stiles’ comments last night about how he’d failed her by not keeping in touch, how he’d feared that he wouldn’t know her anymore. But to her, after just one night in his company, it felt like the opposite. It felt like she’d forgotten who she was until he showed up to remind her. She’d started to believe the mask she wore, even though it wasn’t a comfortable one, she’d stopped seeing herself past the costume. But she couldn’t fool him. She’d never been able to.

It had been so long since they’d spoken that she hadn’t even realised how much she missed him. But locked in a room with nothing to hold onto but the faith that he was looking for her, and lying here talking about everything and nothing last night cut through all of the distractions that she’d filled her life with. He was still her best friend. He was still the one person on the planet who understood her better than anyone else. He always would be.

She thought about the half-finished grad school applications sitting on her computer. She’d been dancing around a decision for months, but now she knew – her future was in California. Her future was wherever her pack was; wherever Stiles was.

She grinned and prodded him, laughing when he woke up flailing.

“Wake up, sleepy,” She demanded, “You’ll have to go back to California before we know it. So while you’re in town we have to make every second count.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me to the end! I'd love to hear any thoughts you have. Now I'm going to go eat a cookie. I think I've earned it.


End file.
